


The Language of My Unwavering Heart

by bravebatgirl



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne is the OG Human Rights Activist, Basically Period Typical Attitudes, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Multi, My Version of Season Four, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Canon Fix-It, Teenage Dorks, anne and diana are borderline gay for each other, cos we need closure, fixing the fact that WE DONT GET S4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 131,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravebatgirl/pseuds/bravebatgirl
Summary: "can we speak in flowers?"POST-S3 CONTINUATIONAnne Shirley-Cuthbert is attending college, exploring the excitement of entering womanhood beside her friends, and has even achieved a not-so-tragical romance. Everything is finally settling into place for the bride of adventure, but there are others still in dire straits. How is it that so much pain can be caused in a world about to turn a new century?She is no thornless rose, and she plans to make use of the barbs she's been blessed with.ORAnne has had it up to here with bigoted idiots, young women enjoying their teen years and getting piss-drunk, Gilbert and her are THAT power couple despite 1053 miles between them, and ~Potential Love Triangle ~
Relationships: Cole Mackenzie/Original Male Character(s), Diana Barry & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Roy Gardner & Anne Shirley, Ruby Gillis & Moody Spurgeon McPherson
Comments: 300
Kudos: 537





	1. (prologue) Forsythia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breathe if youre pissed annE was cancelled. cos same.
> 
> anyway, i got sick of waiting for the all clear on renewing our beloved show, so have started writing this fetus monster fic (srsly, when its done, its gonna be close to 100k words)
> 
> this is a little prologue before we launch into the story. hope y'all enjoy
> 
> EDIT 5/05/2020: I've now made a playlist for this story!! find it on spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Znbn04RELaaW90UCmHHhl)

_Dear Gilbert,_

_I look like my mother. My goodness… Just writing that sets my heart alight; warms my soul to its very core in a way I would never have thought possible. You’re probably rather confused at how I came to realise I resembled my long-lost mother. I should offer further explanation as to how I acquired this knowledge._

_Matthew and Marilla, bless their hearts, journeyed to Nova Scotia, all with the intent of meeting with an elderly woman who knew my parents personally. They recovered a book that my father, Walter, had gifted to my mother, Bertha, and my dearest Matthew and Marilla saw to it that it was once again in the possession of a Shirley. Me! The very last of the Shirleys. It was titled ‘The Language of Flowers’, and on the very last page was the most treasured gift I could ever ask for: a portrait of my mother, drawn so faithfully by my father. She looked so beautiful, Gilbert. So regal and wondrous. Once, my freckled complexion, pale skin and, most grievously, my horrid red hair haunted me every waking and sleeping moment. Marilla called me vain for obsessing so over my disastrous looks, and she rightfully so. I placed far great an importance that necessary on my outer appearance, when it is the character that matters most. Yet, despite this, knowing that I share my mother’s own red-haired genes brought a new sense of gratefulness to me. For if I even share a fraction of her beauty, I’ll be quite content in never obsessing over frivolous things such as appearance again (plus, hers appeared auburn. Auburn! There is hope for me yet.)._

_Oh Gilbert, my heart has never felt so undoubtedly whole as it has this day; it seems as though all the jumbled puzzle pieces of my life are finally slotting into place. Along with this incredible revelation of my past, Diana is sleeping across from me and we are mere hours away from beginning the next chapter of our life together! The Women of Tomorrow, embarking on their educational endeavour side by side. Ruby, Josie, Tillie and Jane are also in this boarding house, just down from the hall from us. I feel so blessed that I get to continue my story with a comforting, familiar fragment of my past right by me, every step of the way. Entering womanhood seems less daunting when doing so with these girls._

_Of course, another, very significant piece; one I never dreamed of acquiring, is you. I should tell you I have kept pinching myself ever since we bade farewell this after-noon. It still seems surreal, something of a figment of my imagination, that someone like you could ever be interested in someone like me. But it was real, wasn’t it? We finally stopped running away from each other and ran toward each other, finding each other in a twist of fate, time being on our side for once. My cheeks are currently aching from smiling so much. It’s a most welcome ache, though._

_In regards to our follow-up questions, I’ll do my best to answer what I imagine yours may be, whilst asking some of my own. First of all, Diana relayed to me that you never received the letter I left for you. Oh, Fortuna, you do work in mysterious ways. While we may never know just how such a significant piece of paper was so heinously misplaced, I want to make it transparently known what its contents were…_

_That night in which you approached me at the ruins… I must apologise. I was the furthest thing from a clear mind – you can thank Moody’s moonshine for that – and I’m afraid I was rather thrown by your bold yet cryptic words. I’d been confused of my feelings since we practiced the White Sergeant (though, if I’m being honest with myself, feelings had existed far longer than that), and I was still reeling from the startling divulgence at the fair that you were courting Winifred. Here was this young, intelligent, persistent man, one who had, in his own words, his future presented to him on a silver platter: the beautiful, elegant woman of high-class, the blessing of her father to enter a marriage, one that would ensure him the less-than-once-in-a-lifetime chance to study at the very most prestigious of schools. Here he was, the most promising future on one hand, and on the other… me. Who was I to stand in the way? Why would I even try to stand in your way? My response was panicked flurry of words, and I was so terribly confused. Yet, not long after… I came to the realisation that I no longer was confused, and my feelings toward you were so transparently obvious, it was as though they’d been written in the stars themselves._

_I love you, Gilbert Blythe. I love your unwavering ambition, courage and persistence in striving to achieve everything your heart desires. I love the way you care so deeply for everyone close to you. I love how even though you can be daft at times, you fight for justice, and never judge a person unfairly. I love your handsome eyes and how they always seem to find mine. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it; and even though we are a thousand miles apart, I am more than prepared to make up for lost time._

_Which brings me to the first of my follow-up questions: when did you first realise you had feelings for me? And to what extent are they currently? And finally… are we courting now? Is that something we can do from such a distance? I have many more churning in my mind, but I fear I have taken up too much of your time and far too much paper. I shall save them for our future correspondences._

_Oh my goodness, would you believe that I have stayed awake until almost 3am? I simply cannot wait to see what Queen’s has in store for me tomorrow, but I really must rest now if I’m to make an appropriate first impression. I’ve already a plethora of plans for making my place in this town; you may recall I told you I must be a relentless thorn in the side of those who refuse to amend the status quo? Well, my first order of business, along with getting acquainted with my fellow students, is to see what change can be brought about the treatment of the indigenous children at those poor, pathetic excuses of schools. I’ll indulge you further on my progress in later letters, but my first action is to write to ‘The Globe’ and inform them of this discriminatory injustice._

_I’m sure by the time this letter reaches you, you’ll have well and truly settled into your medicinal studies at Toronto; but nevertheless, best of luck, Future Doctor Blythe. Don’t let your academic drive slip just because I’m not there to provide competitive stimulation._

_I wait in elated trepidation for your response, and am eager to hear just how extraordinary your new life is._

_With highest sincerity,_

_Your Anne_

_P.S. Suitors are allowed to visit the parlour on Saturday afternoons between 2 and 4. If that knowledge interests you in any way._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

**_Forsythia: the flower of_ ** **_Anticipation_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a little short and sweet, but let me know what you guys think in the comments below  
> all kudos, comments and subscriptions are loooved.
> 
> chapter 1 will be published by next friday
> 
> for more anne related content and ramblings (plus atla and dc), follow me on tumblr - https://bravebatgirl.tumblr.com/


	2. Daffodils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks into the school year at Queen's, and college life is well underway and thriving. New faces, new knowledge, old judgements and prejudice. Anne, however, seems lost in time, and lost in the memory of eyes she refuses to forget.

Anne’s fingertip caught on the edge of her book’s paper and delicately, idly turned it over. It was Jane Eyre; something she’d read perhaps a million times over, and half of those times being in the recent couple of weeks, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to get bored with it. Not when her mind wasn’t even entirely invested in it. Her eyes flickered up for a brief moment, scanning around the courtyard of the boarding house as she sat on the porch before drawing attention back to Jane valiantly working against the fire’s clock to save Rochester. The sun was well and truly above the horizon now, the sky painted a brilliant, baby blue, morning birds giving way to the sound of a rousing Charlottetown – the beginning of her second Friday at Queen’s.

She crossed her legs over, shuffling in her seat as she dealt with the niggling sense of anticipation in her stomach. The postman would be making his rounds soon, surely; he came anytime between five a.m. and eight. By the sun’s positioning and her desire to disregard the extra shawl she’d thrown over herself earlier, Anne could approximate that it was after seven. The other girls would soon be waking.

So far, Queen’s had been nothing short of a rapturous adventure – each day providing Anne with more knowledge and wisdom, and therefore more inquiries and scope for the imagination. While none of her new teachers and professors could ever even _dream_ to live up to the expectation of Ms Stacey, the redhead was thrilled to have found a kindred spirit in her English teacher, Mrs Roberts, and something akin to such in her geography teacher, Mr Braussaw. She attended different classes with each of her blessed Avonlea girls; thank the Lord, they were a saving grace in some cases, as it appeared hoodlums didn’t exist just in the form of Billy Andrews. However, Anne was not one to be undermined by silly, boyish mannerisms, and thought she’d done well to make that abundantly clear to certain persons.

A stray lock of hair fell from the messy updo she’d tossed her hair up into when she’d awoken in the wee hours of the morning, and she sighed, absently tucking it back behind her ear. She flicked the page again, routinely glancing up and then back down to her book. Any moment now, for sure…

“Oh, Anne, there you are, you silly girl!” Josie’s voice suddenly broke through to her world, snapping her out of her reverie. “Diana told us you were already out of bed, and we’ve been scouring for the past ten minutes. Come inside, already; Lily is making breakfast and you ought to be ready by the time she’s finished.”

In true Josie Pye fashion, the blonde turned tail and shut the door behind her without so much as a brief morning salutation. Anne snorted, placing the mark back in her book and hauled herself to her feet, following her friend’s route inside.

Immediately, she was met with the most alluring, warm aroma and her eyes fluttered in bliss. Breathing it in deeply, she exhaled with a pleasurable sigh. Making her way to the kitchen, she called out to any ears privy, “What is that most enticing smell? It’s absolutely _divine_.”

A beaming Ruby swam into view, pink aura and dress shining beautifully. “Oh, Anne! Good morning. It’s _pancakes_ ; with _maple syrup and berries_. Can you believe it? Oh, it’s been _weeks_ since I had pancakes!”

Anne practically melted in euphoria, closing her eyes as she let the scrumptious scent fill her senses. “They smell delicious”, she said before directing her attention to the party responsible for the delightful breakfast. “Thank you so much, Lily. I can’t wait to try them.”

The deaf girl flashed her an appreciative smile, hands moving in a slow, yet steady serious of gestures while Anne watched diligently. Upon learning that their housemaid was the same age as her and the rest of the schoolgirls, Anne had begged the brunette to teach her the intriguing silent language she spoke, eyes shining as her hands clasped together in desperation. The other girl had been momentarily shocked, but quickly nodded, and since then had been setting aside afternoon time to teach Anne the basic forms. Within the two weeks, she’d been able to learn how to decipher basic phrases and smiled as she read Lily’s ‘thank you, my friend’.

“You’re most welcome”, she replied verbally, smile forming into a chuckle as the deaf girl then gestured wildly to her entire being. “Yes, yes. I’ll go get ready now. Be sure to leave some extra fluffy parcels for me!”

Ten scrambling minutes later, Anne flew down the stairs and into her seat at the breakfast table beside Diana, giggling as they shared glances. For a mere six girls, they were quite capable of equalling the noise level of an entire town, chattering loudly and over the top of one another as Lily silently moved between them, loading their plates to the brim. Anne lifted a hefty forkful of sugary goodness to her lips as she listened loyally to Diana’s musings.

“And Mother wants to visit to… apologise? I believe? I’m not certain, but I’d like to hope. Father told me Minnie-May is presenting even more of a rebellious demeanour now that I’m no longer there; but sooner or later, they’ll realise that there’s not much they can do about that.”

“Like sister, like sister” Anne sighed, smiling with pride at her bosom friend. She butted her shoulder affectionately. “Have I told you how proud I am of how incredibly strong and resilient you are?”

Diana’s blush reflected the lovely shade of Ruby’s dress. “Not in the past twenty-fours, no.”

“Well, that’s far, _far_ too long”, she chuckled. “You’re a modern-day Joan of Arc, Diana: a real independent-minded woman. It’s high time your parents came to that realisation, too.”

“Thank you, Anne, but you must know I’d never have been able to make a stance without you.”

They smiled, returning to their meal briefly before a knocking at the door shattered everything in Anne’s conscious mind. Scrambling from her seat in a manner that would have Rachel Lynde spluttering furiously, ignoring Josie’s remark as her crazed antics, she raced for the door and swung it open with the force of Hercules.

“Anything for Anne-Shirley Cuthbert?” she panted, eyes blown wide as saucers as she stared frantically at the poor, innocent postman.

“Uh”, he muttered, adjusting his cap and clearing his throat before continuing. “‘Fraid not, miss. However, I do have one addressed to, um… ‘The Avonlea Girls’? Would this be the right place?”

Eyes flicking to the letter before her and recognising the handwriting, she let out a sigh. She recognised the grand cursive arcs, but it wasn’t the simple handwriting she’d been praying for. With a wan smile, she received the letter. “Yes, that would be correct… Thank you kindly, and have a wonderful day.”

“Likewise, miss”, he said with the tip of his cap, turning as Anne walked back inside. As she entered through to the dining room, she felt all eyes attach themselves to her. She resolutely didn’t catch Diana’s knowing glint in her dark eyes, instead looking at the amused and bemused faces of her other four friends.

“My goodness, Anne. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you run so fast”, Tillie teased, brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

Ruby nodded vigorously in agreement. “I think you may have given some of the boys a run for their money if you were to race them.”

“You’d have certainly bested Billy”, Jane snorted, biting her lip as the sunflower-haired girl next to her shot her a look.

Turning her attention back to Anne, Josie smirked. “You’ve been as skittish as a filly around the doorbell lately. You have to tell us what has gotten you into such a state. Wait… it couldn’t be… _a boy_ … could it? A mystery beau, perhaps?”

A collective gasp rose around the table as everyone’s – save for Diana’s – eyes widened comically, staring up at the fiery friend in disbelief. Diana, on the other hand, gave her a rather pointed, questioning look.

So… it may have been that Anne hadn’t yet told her friends of the gratifying event that had transpired the day before they’d started college. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ the girls to know, exactly, but, well… she wasn’t entirely sure what her current relationship status was to a certain dark and handsome doctor-to-be. And she certainly wasn’t about to make heedless presumptions after all the tragical happenings of their barely-formed romance already. No, Diana knew and was her sole confidante, and for now, that was enough. She waited to be sure of where she and Gilbert stood, if they were in fact now courting (oh, how she desperately hoped they were) before she gushed about the dramatic and splendid transfiguration their relationship had taken.

So, rather than indulge the young gossips around her, she froze momentarily, stuttering before looking at the letter and thrusting it high into the air. “This is addressed to all of us!”

Like kittens suddenly presented with ball of yarn, their eyes fixed on the envelope. Josie’s smirk transformed into a wide, eager smile. “Well, don’t keep us waiting. Open it!”

As Anne fumbled with the flap, Ruby clapped excitedly. “ _Oo_ , do you suppose it may be Moody asking for us to come watch him perform on the banjo? He was telling me about how he’s looking to form a band in college. How splendid is that!”

“Oh hush, Ruby”, Jane chided. “It’s probably Miss Stacey sending us reminders on how to do quadratic functions or geometry. It’s known that was the girls’ collective weakest point. Except for Josie, of course.”

“And you better not forget it.”

“Yes, our beloved class dunce of geography.”

“Tillie Boulter, how could you!”

“Girls!” Diana exclaimed suddenly, silencing the growing clamour. She shook her head, warn smile on her face as she looked to her best friend. “How’s about we actually allow Anne to tell us the letter’s contents without any further speculation or argumentation?”

With the noise level exponentially reduced and attention span narrowed on her once more, Anne felt the air pressure rise, glancing down to the words within the enthusing letter. Her eyes skimmed over the dots and dashes, anxiety soon being replaced with excitement. She felt her cheeks tighten in glee and she bit her lip to keep from spoiling the surprise only she was privy to. Glancing up, she controlled her face into regal indifference, serious stormy-blue eyes barely concealing the smile that that threatened to crinkle them. She cleared her throat, slowly folding the letter back down as she looked around the table full of enraptured young women. Even Lily seemed to be leaning in with anticipation.

“Oh my goodness, Anne, what is it?” Tillie asked, leaning forward in her seat. “You look a right type of serious.”

Ruby’s brows furrowed as she placed her fork down. “Is everyone back home alright? What’s happened?”

“Anne?”

Suddenly, she could it in no longer, grin breaking into broad daylight on her face as she laughed, slamming the letter down onto the table. “‘Dear Young Women of Blackmore House, I hope this letter finds you well, and settling in nicely to Queen’s. As a fellow student of the 1901 Class, it would be my absolute privilege to cordially invite you all to my boarding house’s college soirée, hopefully the first of many to occur during this pivotal point in our lives.’ Girls, girls, girls! Hush, stop it; I’m not finished! _Ahem_ , ‘The event will be held on the fourth Saturday of the semester, and shall commence promptly at five p.m. and finish by eight-thirty, allowing you all to arrive back on your own premises by curfew. You shall find the address attached at the bottom of this letter. This is a great opportunity to expand your friendship circle and make connections you may use for your entire life, so I do hope you’ll consider my offer generously. Your friend, Priscilla Grant.’

“Our first _college party!_ ” Ruby gushed, promptly squealing into her hands.

Tillie clasped Jane’s hand, grinning excitedly. “We _must_ go shopping for new gloves.”

The latter grinned back with just as much passion.

Josie chuckled with glee, reaching over the table to snatch up the letter for herself. “I must say: I like the sound of this Priscilla Grant”, she said, then looked up toward Anne with shining blue eyes. “You’ve become friendly with her, haven’t you? Do you suppose she’ll invite some… potential suitors as well?”

Anne blinked. _Potential suitors_ sounded like a trigger in her mind, and all she could do to think of was soft, dark and captivating hazel eyes. “I… well, I suppose so.”

Good Lord, she sounded like Matthew.

The squealing and laughter rose once more, breakfast completely disregarded as Ruby rambled on about making certain that Moody was to be there; Josie getting up and making a show of offering a hand to Tillie, who accepted her with a snort as the two began pivoting around the room. Diana was conversing animatedly with Jane, discussing which items of clothing they were willing to mix and match.

Anne… well, Anne was on an entirely different plain of existence. The only potential suitor she cared for was one thousand and fifty-three miles away (but who was counting? _Certainly_ not her), and there was a fatter chance of him attending the soirée than the Avonlea school being rebuilt overnight. Even assuming she were able to get a letter to Toronto on time, there were the considerations of his own study schedule, of the train fee… of him actually wanting to attend. She shook her head; she was being positively preposterous of doubting his intentions – the man had given up the Sorbonne for her, after all. But the time and distance apart after their brief clandestine meeting without so much as a word from Gilbert was… well, she’d certainly felt more secure about things in her life. He wasn’t having second thoughts… was he?

“Anne, are you alright?” Diana’s voice said in her ear, drawing her back down toward earth. She looked at her friend, blinked, and forced an assuring smile on her lips. So what if her suitor wasn’t going to attend? She certainly wasn’t going to be a pining damsel in distress whilst she was surrounded by such enigmatic young women; women she was blessed to call her friends. She could be equally romantic and self-sufficient, and didn’t have to be tied down by melancholy. She wouldn’t let it.

“It’s fine. Just… lost in daydreaming of the imminent magical night.”

Diana fixed her with a small scrutinising look before finishing her last morsel of pancake with a nod of ‘we will talk later’. Anne, with a quiet sigh, retook her seat and went about finishing her meal; listening in to the sparing conversation. Smiling quietly, she forced her mind onto silently reciting the classroom words of H.G Wells and Oscar Wilde, on Pythagoras theorem, and curtaining thoughts of the boy that was too physically far away to logically be of relevance now. No matter how her heart beat and burned perennially for him.

* * *

Her head was positively _pulsating_. Six classes a day, each class at least an hour long, and by the Goddess Beltane, Anne was exhausted and in dire need of a well-earned rest – and it was barely one p.m. She’d always been partial to a nice Earl Grey, but she could easily imagine herself falling into the growing coffee-worshippers club of the college campus. Of course, she glowed in each and every one of her classes, and was utterly riveted by the immense range of comprehensive knowledge available, but waking at the wee hours of morning to sit waiting for the post was beginning to wane on her energy levels.

A light-filled giggle sounded behind her, and she startled as a pair of dainty hands rested on her shoulders. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you look as though you’re about to teeter off the edge of the world.”

Wheeling around, the redhead beamed at the golden girl before her. “Priscilla! How are you?”

“Right as rain,” she replied easily, looping her arm with Anne’s as they walked off, “I have biology with you next, after all. Tell me, anything… riveting happening at your little house? Have you received any… interesting mail lately?”

“I haven’t the faintest of clues as to what you could be referring to.”

“Oh really, now?” They shared a twinkling gaze.

“Not in the slightest, I’m afraid. Certainly no galvanising, scandalous invitations to surreptitious soirées, and _most certainly_ no eager and immediate acceptances and rejoices from such letters.”

“My, what a specific example”, the blonde said, quirking an eyebrow, before the two young women promptly dissolved into chuckles as they leaned on each other. “So, we can expect the others’ and your attendance?”

Anne squeezed her arm affectionately. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Though, now I fear it may be all some of them care to think of. I may have to be the mistress of reprimanding reminders for their studies, or they might become neglectful.”

“Well, naturally; someone has to keep the order. Diana seems like a sensible girl, though; surely she’ll be able to assist you there?”

Anne smiled fondly at the thought of her raven-haired best friend. What her parents had hoped would be the perfect, well-bred demure lady of high society had proven to them, others, and most valuably, herself, that she was so much than what life had destined her for. She was thriving unapologetically in the vibrant environment of college culture; settling into her classes and lectures as she exuded a certain quiet confidence. She would practically glow as she regaled to Anne her excitement at finding a club within the college for musicians, speaking of incredible likeminded people she’d met; players of strings, brass, and percussion alike. Anne had never seen her flourish so splendidly, and she was glad for it.

She chuckled lightly as they walked into the great expanse of their biology classroom, manoeuvring around artificial skeletons as they made their way to their seats at the front. “Diana might try to chide them initially, but I think she’s quite enraptured by the prospect herself, you see; so, I doubt there’d be too much force behind her words. I can’t say I blame her. It really is exciting, and we’re ever so thankful for your invitation.”

“You’re more than welcome”, Priscilla said with a gentle smile as she pulled out her feather-engraved fountain pen. “I’m so excited to meet these friends of yours. They all sound like delightful creatures.”

“They truly are. I have no doubt you’ll get along famously with them; you are truly kindred spirits.”

The sunshine through the window pane illuminated her friend’s golden hair and smile. “I quite adore that term. _Kindred. Spirits._ There’s something so ethereal about the word ‘spirit’; it suggests that we’re so much more than just our earthly tethers and physical presence. There’s a certain… freedom about it. While it mayn’t apply to all, I’d like to believe that the word truly encompasses the likes of you and me. It certainly does you, Anne.”

Anne smiled wistfully. “I just love your imagination, Priscilla. It’s so wide and wonderful.”

“Please, dear Anne; if we are kindred spirits and are to be good friends, you must simply call me Pris.”

They two shared once last charming look before turning their attention around to their weary teacher who’d just made his way into the room, adjusting the round glasses on his crooked nose. Silvery grey hairs were highlighted on the thin, receding walnut-brown hairline. Anne could easily imagine he’d not slept more than fifteen hours total the entire week, scrunching her eyebrows as she watched him sigh.

“Have note-taking implements at the ready... Today we continue on with our… Evolution unit; focusing, in particular, of that of the human… or as we recognise him in Greek terms… _homo sapiens_.”

As his chalk clicked and skidded over the board, Anne took to madly dancing her pen across the page of her book, taking routine concise glances to the words as they formed before her.

“Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution is something that we as scientists are still debating today, as it has the tendency to… clash with our Christian upbringings. Yet, when looking at the evidence supplied through archaeological finds, we can see that there have existed previous… incarnations of the human; figures that share similarities with who we are today, yet show enough change for there to _be_ that distinction. On a scientific expedition to a chain of islands called the Galapagos – this is off the coast of South America, for those interested – Darwin came across certain different iterations of the same bird, and from this, stemmed his hypothesis on the theory of evolution… Can anyone tell me what these birds were? Yes… Mr Flanagan.”

“Gulls?”

“Incorrect. Uh… Miss Grant?”

“They were finches, sir.”

“Correct. Flanagan, write that answer out twenty times. Darwin identified that these finches had all originated from the same bird, yet had all developed into their own _species_. Key term; be sure to note that, for it’ll be explored in later lectures. Each specimen was equipped with slightly different alterations that best suited the climate and environment in which they lived. A process in which Darwin coined _natural selection_ ensured that only the best and strongest of the birds would survive, thereby creating the most selective version of that particular finch species. In this same way, it has applied to mankind. Our lineage can be traced back to forty thousand years, and prior to that, it goes back further to the Neanderthal, _homo neanderthalensis_. Due to what we assume to be competition via our own species, or perhaps the outbreak of disease, famine, larger, carnivorous predators, the Neanderthal went extinct and we were left the sole intelligent species alive on the planet.”

Anne leaned over, whispering excitedly into Priscilla’s ear, “Isn’t that spectacular? To think that we have become the incredibly complex and detailed product through years and years of fine-tuning and universal intervention. We’re like a snowflake in a rainstorm.”

“Yes, it really is. Oh, shush, Mr Quinston’s looking this way.”

The rest of the class passed with Anne in quiet rapture, listening intently to her teacher’s lacklustre droning about quite easily on of the most riveting topics the girl from Avonlea had dared to dream of. At the conclusion of the lesson, she left the classroom far more energised than when she’d first arrived, bright misty blue eyes shining and marvelling at the world around her with a renewed appreciation for its beauty. A quiet smile dawned her features as she listened to Priscilla raving on about the impending party.

“Oh, and I have a friend of mine who’ll be organising beverages of wine, ale, and – _and moonshine and whiskey_ ”, she added at a whisper with a devilish grin. “They’ll be more than plenty to go around, and there’ll be Sunday to recover from any resulting ailments. I’m expecting it to be a right, enjoyable night.”

“I don’t have a doubt it will.” Anne’s eyes flickered around the courtyard of the promenade, taking in the range of strange faces she’d yet to meet. A thought of a familiar one located not too far by winked in her mind, and she brightened, glancing back at Priscilla. “Oh! Also, if it doesn’t inconvenience you in any way, there’s a close friend of mine who lives in Charlottetown. Cole Mackenzie: might I invite him along?”

She watched as a mischievous glint sparkled in her companion’s moss-green eyes. “A _close friend,_ you say, hm?”

Anne chuckled, shoving aside the persistently annoying, yet irrevocably handsome face that popped up at those articulated words. That same face that had encompassed her daydreams as of late. “Believe me; it is most certainly not like that with Cole. He’s dear to me in the way Diana is.”

“… I’ll believe you. For now”, she teased with a wink. “There’s _so_ many people I need to acquaint you with on the night. In particular, there’s this certain magnetic gentleman of eloquence I believe you’ll find to be—”

“Pris, what do you make of that?” Anne cut in; her gaze now fixed off to the near distance where a halting message began to boil her blood. On one of the school’s noticeboards ahead, pinned in amongst the rather unassuming posters promoting clubs of debating and sporting was a simple monochrome notice. Even from a distance, Anne could read the emboldened, affronting message.

“What?” Priscilla’s questioning tone sounded beside her, followed by a small pause before, “The one from The Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development?”

“Yes”, Anne barely got out, voicing down the angry tremor in her throat as she stepped closer toward it. “‘Warning: Indian Village Located Within a 25-mile Radius. For the safety of all civilians, if an Indian is sighted, move briskly away from area. P lease immediately report to the town centre or nearby authority.’”

Unease settled into her stomach like a swarm of provoked bees.

“Well…”, Priscilla began slowly, and from the corner of her eye, Anne noticed her watching prudently, “I can’t say I’ve formed much of an opinion; I haven’t any real experience with the Indians. There wasn’t much incident in Summerside where I grew up. Occasionally there’d be some of their men trying to sell crab nets to the local fishermen, but that was it as a whole.”

“They make it sound like they’re… they’re _convicts_. On their own land…”

Priscilla was perplexedly concerned, yet entirely oblivious to workings of the storm manifesting in Anne’s mind, her brows quivering as they scrunched in concealed fury. She _knew_ the Mi-kmaq people; had been blessed with the opportunity of getting to know their culture: the intricate weavings of baskets and nets, the welcoming and gentle smiles that filled the faces of new friends, the colourful, poetic language that spoke to Anne’s own spirit – all of it was completely disregarded on the basis that they were different, and her own side of civilised society despised different. That she knew all too well.

“… Maybe it’s best we continue. We’ve got English next with Mrs Roberts and I know you don’t want to be late for her lesson”, the blonde beauty beside her suggested with a questioning eyebrow.

With great difficulty, Anne tore her troubled gaze away from the notice; a fire building and growing as kindling of her ongoing thoughts were thrown into it.

* * *

“And that concludes our lecture for today. Take out your diaries and journals to write down homework… read from pages forty-five to one-hundred-and-fifty-seven – pay _particular_ attention to Caeser’s role in the Battle of the Nile. I do hope you’ve all taken extensive notes and I shall remind you _once again_ ; you are all young adults now, no longer children. You are to be treated as such, and we as teachers trust the cane and ruler are no longer required, but that you will take responsibility for your educational commitments. Don’t let immaturity or distractions impede on your learning. With that, have a good weekend and I shall see you all for class on Monday.”

The shrew, stocky Mrs Weathering gave a curt nod, hawk-like eyes scanning the room at lightning speed before she collected her possessions, waddling from the room and the cacophony of boisterous teenagers. Anne rose from her desk, brushing a red ringlet behind her ear as she bent down to gather the disarray that was her study items into her satchel. Her lip quirked as Jane, Ruby and Diana mirrored her movements in the corner of her eye, conversation rising excitedly amongst the friends.

“So, what shall we do this weekend?”

Ruby smirked, her sapphire eyes sparkling as she reached to place her hat atop her head. “Well, I have made plans to see Moody tomorrow, so that’s two hours of _my_ weekend already occupied.”

Jane swatted her arm playfully, mouth widened mockingly large as she eyed her friend. “Miss Gillis, look at you getting all romantically mature!”

She turned a coy shoulder, half-lidded eyes looking entirely too innocent as she flashed a scandalously bold wink. The quartet dissolved into quiet giggles as they made their way out the large mahogany doors.

“Perhaps we should take a stroll around town and do some reconnaissance for future expeditions?” Anne suggested.

Diana brightened up, a handsome white smile blessing her features. “Oh yes; and we can make a point of stopping for tea. I know of this _delightful_ place that my Aunt Josephine would take my sister and me to when we came to visit.”

“Perhaps some sightseeing or… shopping?” Jane said, quirking a brow.

Anne chuckled before a smile crossed her face. “Yes… though I must admit, I don’t think we’ll quite find anything like the cliffside views of Avonlea here in Charlottetown.

“Anne; you aren’t getting homesickness now, are you?”

The girls turned to see the pastel-coloured Josie strutting over to join them, a sly look on her face. “Because that would be simply stupendous if you were.”

Anne sighed patiently, fixing her somewhat aggravating friend with a look. “I’m simply nostalgic, Josie. Anyway, how was economic science? That’s your final Friday session, isn’t it?”

“My professor is as dull as ditchwater, but the content itself isn’t as much so. It’s quite interesting, in fact, learning how our money circulates around the country.”

“I’m glad you’re finding something to be passionate for”, Diana said, reaching across to squeeze her friend’s lithe shoulder.

“Thank you” the blonde murmured, soft smile playing her lips. It quickly dissolved as she straightened up, moving briskly with the others through the iron gates of the college. “So, what were you all talking about before I interrupted?”

“We’re discussing plans for the weekend ahead”, Ruby spoke up excitedly, “and I was just telling the girls about how Moody is visiting me in the parlour tomorrow. He may even invite me for a walkabout as well!”

Josie’s sharp blue eyes lit up. “Oh, how exciting! Just promise me I won’t have to sit in and chaperone you two for the time. I don’t care to think of how abysmally sweet you’d be to watch.”

A pink that blended in nicely with Ruby’s dress danced across the bridge of her nose. Anne, however, paid no mind as a teasing glint sparked in her eyes. “Oh yes, Josie; simply being in Ruby and Moody’s presence for more than thirty minutes is sure to induce a cavity. Be very cautious.”

“It very well could, you know”, Jane teased. “I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if it did.”

Diana snorted, shooing off their light-hearted jokes with a wave of her hand. “Alright, that’s quite enough teasing at Ruby’s expense, don’t you think? Besides, she’s right; she has some plans already, so the rest of us should get to following her lead and come up with something.”

“I stand by what I said earlier regarding taking a stroll”, Anne said with a purse of her lips, “but I also believe it best to ensure we leave ample study time. Perhaps we should consider an excursion to the library? Make a start on our research papers that are upcoming.”

That elicited a collective groan from the girls, and Anne was unable to stop the chuckle that rose from her throat, stifling it poorly and earning a reproaching look from Josie. Anne simply shrugged unconvincingly, tilting her chin up charmingly as the strong-willed blonde continued to prattle on about how completely obscure and absurd she found Anne’s easy passion for essay-writing to be.

The walk back to Blackmore House was swift and serene, the girls conversing lightly or simply dissolving into comfortable silence before someone stumbled across a new topic for discussion. Tillie joined them halfway, regaling the extravagant and clandestine meeting she’d just had with on of the Pauls, pouring in detail of how sombre the poor lad had become when she had put her foot down and halted his advances. The girls listened in a state of enrapture, Anne cutting in to note how mature it was of the brunette to make the hard effort of declining his insistent advances when his affections were unfortunately not returned. Tillie smiled ruefully, thanking the redhead but admitting how terribly difficult it had been to finally decide between the two potential suitors. She remarked, rather wistfully, that they were becoming too old to be so coy and lax about courtships, and that it was high time she made up her mind. Oh, the woes of womanhood.

“How very brave of you, Tillie”, Ruby noted with a dab of her nose.

“Thank you, dear” the curvaceous girl lamented, turning first to walk down the pavement toward their house. “It was most heartbreaking, but it needed to be done.”

“Look on the bright side; the silver lining in all this”, Anne said brightly, eager to pick up the downtrodden fog of misery that had befallen the conversation. “Now you can truly invest in the foundation of a healthy, loyal relationship. How exciting is the prospect that you and Paul are on this journey of romance together!”

Josie gave her a quizzically amused look. “And what do you know of romance, Anne? Besides Charlie’s incessant and misplaced affections.”

“Well, I…” Anne began to say, feeling somewhat abashed as the girls chuckled with her as they began to file inside.

“Mail! Mail for an Anne Shirley-Cothbert?”

Like a thoroughbred out the startbox, Anne squeezed past the others before quickly flying back down the path, meeting the postman right back the wrought iron gate. He looked downright exasperated as Anne panted before him, wide-eyed and wide-smile. “I-it’s Cuthbert.”

“… Right. Uh, well, Miss Cuthbert, seems this letter arrived at the office later than the morning post”, he drawled out, handing her the cream coloured envelope. She received it with barely withheld conviction, delicately brushing fingers over smooth, unblemished surface: save for the slightly bent edges. Flipping it over, her heart jumped at seeing the immediately recognisable handwriting.

She looked up at him through misty eyes, beaming brighter than the sun. “Thank you ever so much. I’ve been practically melancholy waiting for this correspondence. You’re like Hermes riding on the wings of young love. I can’t thank you enough.”

The older man looked a right type of perturbance, eyeing her warily before taking a step backward. “Don’t… don’t mention it, miss. I’ll… be off then.”

Waving him off in the most flamboyant fashion, Anne then promptly turned tail and raced back inside, dodging the girls and their questions with no more than an ‘excuse me’ or ‘urgent matter to attend to’. She tore up the stairs, gripping the railing as she skidded around the corridor and raced toward her room. Flinging the door open, she scarcely shut it behind her before flopping stomach-first onto her bed, rolling over as she looked at the letter. Her chest heaved, not from the limited way she exerted herself, but from the racing of her heart as she stared at the mesmerising way he’d written her name. With a deep breath, she slid her thumb under the flap, sat up, and let herself become absorbed in the words before her.

She was vaguely aware of the way in which her door not-so-subtly slid open ajar, and felt more than saw the five pairs of eyes glued onto her from its frame. As her face transformed from wonder to elated lovesickness, she saw the figures creep into the room from her periphery. At her stuttering sigh, the bed opposite hers creaked and unintelligible whispers drifted on the soft draft from the window. She laid back down, biting her lip to keep the smile on her mind from splitting her face into two. She chuckled occasionally, tutted, and sighed forlornly as she neared the end. Her eyes scanned the most iridescent sections (which was a large majority of the letter), letting the magical words sink in before she clutched the letter to her chest, eyes squeezing shut and sighing contentedly as she cradled it.

When she opened them again, she jumped at the sight of five familiar faces leaning over her, all but Diana’s in a state of bewilderment. Ruby was looking particularly intrigued.

“That’s… Gilbert’s handwriting… isn’t it?” she muttered, looking at Anne with increasingly wide azure eyes.

Slowly, the connotations of her words started to dawn on the others faces, and within three beats, the lions had pounced.

“What?! Why are you looking all romantical at a letter from _Gilbert Blythe?_ ” Josie exclaimed first, leaping to kneel on the bed beside Anne’s torso.

“What has he said? Is he writing you love letters? Is that what’s got you all flushed in the face?”

“What about his engagement to Winifred?” Tillie suddenly gasped. “This isn’t some _illicit affair_ , is it?”

“The slander that could come from this! Oh, it is so exciting though. Anne, this is oh so scandalous”, Jane said with a wild grin.

Diana, who was clearly finding the whole situation rather amusing, was quite evidently struggling to bite her tongue as the vultures continued their feast. Anne gave her a helpless look, pleading with her. The raven-haired beauty simply shrugged her shoulders, mouthing ‘good luck’.

Oh, there was no worse sting or motivator to stand up for oneself than the betrayal of a bosom friend.

“Alright fine, fine!” Anne called above the thicket of gossip, silencing the girls immediately. Sighing exaggeratedly, she folded her legs underneath and raised her chin, “I’ll explain everything… or rather, what you need to know.”

Moving backward to allow room for her friends to clamour onto the bed with her, she launched into the details.

“And then, while I was exploring the town, I bumped into Winifred herself.” She stifled a smile at the gasp that echoed around her. “From her fully harnessed horses and carriage, along with a multitude of bags, I assumed she was on her way to Paris with Gilbert… to be wed. I wished her luck, but she seemed to be rather affronted by my presence and the words I said. I was about to leave her to her own devices when she stopped me in my tracks. Apparently… Gilbert had never proposed, and ended their courtship altogether.”

“What?!”

“Josie, _hush!_ ”

“Yes… I was equally shocked and dumbfounded… For the life of me, I didn’t dare to hope and guess at his reasoning behind this drastic decision. H-he was throwing away his opportunity to study at the most illustrious of medical schools in Europe, and an incredibly wonderful, glamourous future with an equally attractive wife. Then… Winifred told me it as because his affections, his devotion that he thought was unrequited, laid elsewhere… with me…”

“Oh my _God!_ ”

_“Tillie!”_

Anne chuckled lightly, feeling as though a weight that she hadn’t realised was there was slowly being lifted from her shoulders. “You can imagine, knowing me, how incredibly fast and dramatically I raced back to the House. I didn’t really know quite yet where I was going – back to Avonlea, perhaps – but I knew I had to get to him and set things straight. I rushed to pack the bare necessities and change my shoes before racing back out again. I barely made it out the door before I… well… he was there.”

Jane gasped. “ _Oh_ , how romantic.”

“Good _Lord, will everyone be quiet and let Anne continue the story?”_ Ruby gave them all pointed looks before settling her chin back in the heels of her palms.

Anne took a deep breath, looking down as she played with the hem of her skirt. “It was… I wanted to say so much, and he did too but… I couldn’t get anything out. Neither could he. It was like time and space just… fell away. Like we were the sole inhabitants of Earth, like nothing mattered but that moment. And suddenly, everything became transparently clear.”

The girls were leaning in, wide eyes staring, yet Anne was oblivious; stuck in a blissful memory. “I just set my case down, walked down the stairs toward him. And for a moment, we just stared. It was like it was the first time we were truly seeing each other, and there was nothing there that could ruin it. He reached a hand up to cup my cheek and oh… he was cradling it like I was the most delicate, precious thing in existence. I didn’t dare move; just continually met his eyes, yearning that I was wordlessly getting my willingness across, and I watched them shift as his thumb caressed my skin… and then… he… well… it was better than any romance novel I’ve read.”

“What was? Anne, what?”

“Come on, you can’t leave us in suspense.”

“I’m about to tear my hair out!”

“He kissed her.”

All attention whipped around to Diana who stood at the foot of the bed with a smug, knowing smile plastered on her face. Like a tennis ball in play, their heads turned back to Anne for confirmation, and the redhead felt her face heat as she bit her lip, nodding shyly.

For a moment, they all simply gaped at their friend, silent and still as Greek statues.

Then suddenly, Ruby was quite literally bouncing, golden ringlets falling like uncoiling springs. “Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my _gosh!_ ”

“I can’t believe this!”

“Forget Romeo and Juliet – I want _that_ ”, Tillie whined.

Josie, who’d been right along with my excitable friends, suddenly sat and turned to Anne, an expression of seriousness on her brow. “Wait, you… you were alright with that… weren’t you? He didn’t make you uncomfortable in any way?”

Anne’s appreciation and respect for her former childhood-nemesis grew tenfold, and she reached a pale hand across to grab her friend’s porcelain own, smiling reassuringly as she squeezed. “Don’t worry, Josie – it was most definitely a welcomed action. In fact… it was welcomed _so_ much so that after this brilliant, daft boy had the audacity to ask if I truly had feelings for him – as though there was a possibility I wouldn’t … _I_ kissed him.”

“You _didn’t_ ”, Josie said, mouth suddenly very prone to catching flies.

She chuckled, leaning back and away from the blonde’s hand as she sat back by her pillows. “I can assure you… I did. And oh, did he kiss me back. I was completely absorbed into our own little reality we’d created; this orbiting alternate universe made solely for us. Eventually, in true fairytale fashion, the clock struck midday and Gilbert broke the kiss, saying he had to go.”

“Seems as though you two reversed the story of Cinderella, _Princess Charming_ ”, Tillie said with a wink.

The girls laughed, eventually subsiding as Anne continued with an aching smile on her face. “We’ve always said that I was unique, haven’t we? Anyway, he told me he’d – and get this – _left his bags on the train_ to come see me – imagining how swift he must’ve run to do so puts a stutter in my heart – and he had to get back on so he could arrive at the University of Toronto that day.”

“So, he’s going to pursue medicine after all?” Jane inquired.

Anne nodded, smiling proudly at the thought. “Yes; he managed a late admission through Miss Stacey and her doctor friend, Emily Oak.”

Ruby’s interest piqued and she scooted closer. “A female doctor?”

“Yes – isn’t it incredible? Apparently, she’s interested at looking at a new form of medicine called antitoxin. It could eventually be used to treat diseases like diphtheria and consumption.”

“Incredible”, Diana murmured, looking on in absolute wonder.

Tillie shook her head disbelievingly. “Modern medicine is truly a marvel… how do you know all this, Anne?”

Anne chuckled somewhat sheepishly before waving the letter. “Gilbert told me. We agreed to be pen pals.”

Josie let out a snort, crossing her arms as she raised a brow. “Right, because after all that you two have been through, you are now… pen. Pals. Really? Oh my gosh, you know what? You two are made for each other – you’re both equally exasperating.”

“Well… um…” she looked to the side, feeling the flush adorn her face once more, “we… may be slightly more than that now… _Gilbertaskedtocourtme_!”

After her flurry of regurgitated words, the group of five just stared quizzically at her. Sighing, she bowed her head before smiling up at them once more, controlling her breath and said, “In this letter… Gilbert asked if he could court me officially.”

Diana threw her hands up, Anne faintly hearing a ‘finally!’ come from her best friend as the others scurried and scrambled to crowd the newly former-bachelorette. She struggled to keep the precious, irreplaceable letter from their curious hands.

“Oh, there shall be a lot of broken hearts on Prince Edward Island tonight!” Tillie declared in a rather Shakespearean manner.

“For whom? Gilbert, or Anne?” Ruby giggled.

Jane quirked a brow. “Both?”

Josie beamed, jumping up onto the bed, raising an invisible glass to the ceiling. “Tonight, ladies, we shall toast and drink to Anne Shirley-Cuthbert – who would have guessed that the assumed future old maid would wind up plucking none other than Gilbert Blythe from the hands of all other eligible young women on the island?”

Anne threw back her head to laugh as the rest of them threw their hands to the sky in unison and shouted, “Hear, hear!”

In amidst her uncontrollable chortling, Anne too lifted her hand and managed out a rather strangled, “Hear, hear.”

Ruby squealed, getting off the bed and placing her hat to the side as she started unravelling the intricate curls on her head. “I’ll go find the most expensive bottle of French wine from the cabinet.”

“Ruby!” Jane called, chasing after the blonde, “it’s barely half-past-four in afternoon! Surely you don’t mean to start drinking now?”

Laughing at their friends’ antics, Tillie turned to Anne, smiling wide. “I’m so glad for you, Anne.”

Anne returned the gesture, but before she could say anything, she felt slim arms underneath blue puffed sleeves wrap around her frame, light blonde hair brushing her cheek. It lasted less than a couple of seconds, but as Josie pulled back, the redhead saw the earnest joy in her friend’s eyes. “As am I. You deserve nothing but happiness, Anne. You’re a treasure.”

Feeling emotion prickle in the corners of her eyes, she smiled, looking between the two girls. “Thank you both. I appreciate it so much.”

They pulled away, walking toward the doorframe before Josie swivelled her head around. “See you both downstairs?”

Diana and Anne looked to one another, sharing a knowing smile before the latter nodded. “We’ll be down in just a minute.”

The two other girls nodded before promptly making their exist, leaving Diana and Anne to themselves. They looked to one another and Anne shook her head, grinning disbelievingly. Diana grinned back, walking over to bed and climbing onto it, nestling herself beside Anne, shoulder-to-shoulder as they laid down, looking up at the ceiling.

For a moment, there was comfortable silence, the placing reminiscent of another fond memory that contained another pinnacle revelation. Anne smiled contentedly, bringing the letter closer to her chest as she sighed.

“Well, that was certainly an exciting turn of events”, Diana said, eyes trained on the ceiling above.

Anne snorted, nudging her friend. “No thanks to _you_ , dear Diana. You absolutely left me for the dogs there. I have never felt such betrayal as from thee till this day.”

She laughed in response. “Please, spare me the pity; it was a mercy I refrained from saying anything. I know how much you would’ve wanted to regale the story yourself, and how much more enthralling your words would’ve been compared to mine. Really, Anne, you’re quite more than capable of defending yourself to said dogs.”

Anne hummed appreciatively, lopsided smile easily playing her lips as she absently traced a thumb over the letter. Her chest swelled at the action and she took a deep breath. “They weren’t really dogs, though. Furthest thing from it.” She turned her head to face Diana, and as the person of interest reciprocated the action, their noses bumped. “I feel like I’m walking amongst the clouds; like I can see every little minute detail folds in to create a beautiful spectacle on the ground beneath me. Singular meadows and paddocks become one magnificent mass of green, houses form into whole towns, communities, networks of people together. Everything just comes together and… makes sense.”

“You’re so poetic, Anne”, Diana murmured, rolling over onto her side as she rested her chin on her folded arms.

She smiled up at the beautiful young lady that was her bosom friend. “And you are a wonder for the eyes and soul, Miss Barry.”

They shared a small bout of chuckling, easing into comfortable silence. The open window was blessing their small world inside with all the fragrances of Charlottetown and her surrounding woods: earthy scents of spruce, pine, oak and maple wafting in along with the morning leftovers of fresh bread from the bakery around the corner. Blue jays and sparrows twittered past, content in the chilling autumn weather. Anne knew very well that blessed feeling of contentment, and prayed she’d never relinquish the memory of it.

Suddenly, she felt Diana shift beside her, watching as she sat upright and turned to face her, biting her rosy bottom lip. “So… are you going let me be privy to the contents of Mr Blythe’s letter?”

Anne let out a bark of laughter. “Most certainly not. Not at least until I’ve had a day or two of him to myself, thank you very much! You right pixie; you only hung around to snoop, didn’t you?”

“Snoop?” the redhead dodged her friend’s half-hearted swat of her hand with a squeal. “I beg your pardon, Miss Shirley, but as one of the primary instigators of this new relationship, I’m quite invested and need to assure myself that a certain someone hailing from Toronto is behaving and doesn’t need to feel my wrath again.”

She chuckled, sitting up and grabbing Diana’s hand. “I can assure you myself; Gilbert is being every bit the gentleman and knight in shining armour I’ve come to picture him as. If any of that changes at any given point, you’ll be the first to know, and you may escort me to Toronto so I can berate him myself.”

Diana narrowed her eyes at her, calculating and running the numbers very visibly in their dark grey depths before she sighed. “Oh fine. I trust your judgement, but I mean it: his room for faults is the size of my cuticle.”

“And I thank you for your ongoing protection, my royal squire”, Anne chuckled, then eyed the door. “You go down; I’ll only be another couple of minutes at most.”

“Yes, Your Majesty”, Diana said with a bow, and began walking to the door, almost being completely through its archway before turning around with a sly smile, speaking an octave lower. “‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

Before the raven-haired girl could do a thing of prevention, one of Anne’s pillows was hurtling towards her, and she let out a shrieking laugh as she faulted out of the way. Anne, for her part, was kneeling on the bed following the toss, fixing her friend with mischievous eyes. “Away with you, Mr Darcy! Let me be melancholically in love by my lonesome.”

“Ha! We’re ridiculous!”

“Indeed, we are. Now seriously, go and allow me to enjoy this letter from _my_ Mr Darcy”, Anne joked.

Diana nodded, smiling despite the defeat. “Very well. Don’t be too long though – I fear Tillie will liquor herself too much if we aren’t there to share the resources.”

“Dear Lord, _never_ again. See you soon.”

With the room empty save for Anne and her letter, she breathed in relief and laid back against the remaining two pillows, one of which was her beloved possession crafted by Marilla’s loving hand. The quiet and serenity of solitude filled her senses and she carefully plied the folded open once again, eyes now taking the words that had previously caressed her skin all the way to her deep, rumbling core. Everything softened and hazed around her as she started with those first three unequivocally resounding words.

_My dearest Anne,_

_Firstly, I should tell you how I feel there’s no earthly reason, nor words fit to describe how incredibly relieving it is to write those words and know they’ll be delivered to none other than you. This entire day has felt like something of a dream, and I keep waiting for the moment in which I wake up back in my bed._

_I have spent the good part of this train trip to Toronto writing and rewriting words to try to mirror your own poetic and ethereal way with them. Please refrain from laughing too much when I admit that there are at least eight pieces of paper in my possession that have been scrunched beyond recognition. However, after so many failed attempts, I have to come realise that I will never be able to truly replicate the manner of your words, for it’s the same manner in which you live. You, yourself, are ethereal, Anne, in everything you do; and I scarcely dare to think how it is you manage to bless a mere mortal such as myself with not only your presence, but your heart. Nor can I scarcely believe it._

_While I’m sure you’ve heard in some sort of words from Diana how I came to arrive, quite literally, out of the blue at your doorstep, I’d like it if you would allow me to indulge you in my words. See… about a fortnight ago from today, I made a trip to Charlottetown to meet with Winifred. Let me inject – I plan to apologise profusely for that entire situation both in this letter and in person. As I was saying, I’d been plagued with doubts and questions regarding Winifred, the Sorbonne, and, most importantly, you. As you said when I talked to you that night at the ruins (I shall also apologise for this. I hope not to make a habit out of needing to apologise to you), Winifred was lovely, the Sorbonne was my dream, and it was all there for the taking. Logically, in my mind, it was the sensible option – one that most people would’ve taken had they been presented it. But I would argue that most people aren’t in love with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert._

_It was after this time and before going to Charlottetown that I realised the depth of my feelings, and it was at that time that I realised I could never love anyone as I do you. There would never, in a million years of lifetimes, be anyone for me but you. I resolved with myself that while I’d find a way to manage a life alone if I couldn’t be with you, I could not bring myself to marry a woman that wasn’t you. It’d wouldn’t have been fair. So, I made haste to Charlottetown to end things with Winifred. I did, and while I admit things didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped, they certainly went better than I thought they would. The conclusion of it all was that Winifred was to leave for Paris on her own, and for me to allow her two weeks to get her finances in order before I told anyone. Hence, another dime in the growing fortune that is miscommunications and missed chances between you and me._

_From there, I knew the Sorbonne was no longer an option, so I made the decision to pray to God and go to Miss Stacey, hoping I’d be able to get into a medical course at the University of Toronto under the tutelage of our teacher’s friend, Dr Emily Oak. You can imagine my excitement when I found I’d been given the opportunity, and I seized it with both hands._

_Then, while on the train to Toronto earlier today, I ran into the Barrys and relayed my current marital status. Well, I will never think of Diana as quiet nor demure again, for she came at me with the force of an army (please, pass my sincere thanks to her for this). I hope you’ll forgive Diana and me for the circumstances, but your dear friend did let slip that you’d left a note saying you loved me. I had to pause my writing and bask in those words again. Which brings me to one of my follow-up questions: while we’ve established that you do have feelings for me… is it love? I want to hope so, but after years of misleading assumptions, I want everything to be plainly transparent between us._

_Which is why I want to make known the contents of a letter I left for you which seems to have been lost to misfortunate circumstance. Anne… I’ve not done right by you in making my feelings clear, and for that I apologise profusely. I wish I could turn back the clock, as far as the day you broke that slate over my head, for I must confess; I’ve loved you ever since that moment. Forgive me my forwardness, but you are the fond object of my affection and my desire. You and you alone are the keeper of the key to my heart. I may have denied myself in those feelings, certainly denied Bash (yes… Bash has been rooting for us since the day I met him), and most recently, I’ve denied you, and caused you more strife than I’d wish to in a lifetime. In fairness, I’m sure you’ll agree you’ve done that for me in turn, so I hope we can agree that the heedless pain for each other stops here. Which is why I confess that I’m not engaged; nor will I be, unless it’s to you, Anne. My Anne with an e. It always has been, and always will be, you. _

_I hope this doesn’t alarm you, but I needed to unburden my heart to you, and unburden you from confusion. I know we agreed to being pen pals, but I’m not sure if that could be enough for me. I don’t know if there’s a term in existence today that could truly encompass what we are, but I would be honoured and wholly in bliss if you’d allow me to court you. I plan to write to Matthew and Marilla and ask them also – though, this would be more of a courtesy as I firmly believe you’re quite capable of making your own decisions about your future. I know the logistics of our distance apart may complicate things, but I have savings, and I plan to find work as soon as I’ve settled into my dormitory at U of T, so that I may make frequent trips to Charlottetown to see you. Along with this, I would love to keep a correspondence with you and hear all about how you’re shaking the roots of your college for the better. Likewise, I’d love for you to be my confidante in this strange, incompossibly large city and the exciting world of medicine. I’m getting quite ahead of myself here, but I do hope you’ll consider my offer, for nothing would make me happier. Perhaps other than being by your side._

_I’m terribly sorry to say I’m running out of space and ink to write, so although I have many more questions to ask you and many more answers to provide, I’ll have to cut it here. Anne, I wish you the best of luck at Queen’s; I know you’re going to take it and everyone by storm. Please don’t get too bogged down in your studies and remember to enjoy life as a free woman – but not so much that you lose sight of your goals. I’d hate for me to beat you academically and it not be fair and square (where’s the fun in that?). The world is at your fingertips, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, and it is yours for the taking. You’re so strong-willed, fiery, impassioned, magnanimous, intelligent… I’m afraid I could go on. You are the very best of us, and the world doesn’t yet deserve you. I certainly don’t._

_If you happen across Bash, I advise you to run away – I’ll be telling him of today’s events promptly after I send this letter. Please trust me on this, Anne. He will hunt you down and hammer you with questions and teasing mercilessly. Do kiss Delphie for me, though – she’s the angel where her father acts the devil on occasion. Say hi to our classmates as well, though I hope to see them soon._

_I hope this letter reaches you expeditiously, and I’ll wait for your responding letter in eager excitement._

_All my love to you,_

_Gilbert_

_P.S. Call me scandalous and salacious, but I yearn to feel your lips on mine again; for I’m constantly treading water and your kiss is a breath of fresh air. When is an appropriate time in your schedule for me to visit?_

By the time Anne finished, her small pillow of home was wrapped tight in her arms as she bit the corner, beaming grin spanning across her cheekbones along with her flushed skin. She sighed elatedly, gently laying the letter against her chest as she stared at the ceiling.

“His Anne with an e… oh goodness”, she muttered to the slowly setting sun.

She sank into the duvet and quilt, feeling warm from the inside and out as she closed her eyes. And when she did so, all she saw was mesmerising, inquisitive, full-of-romance hazel eyes staring back at her. How she couldn’t wait to see them again. Perhaps she could write to him immediately and see about getting him to the Island for Priscilla's soirée. It certainly seemed like it would be in both their interests. However, Gilbert had said that he sent this letter the day of their clandestine meeting - that had been two weeks ago... By the time her response and invitation reached him, it'd be three days before the party, at the very most. That was hardly enough polite notice. Perhaps it was best to just leave it this time. Her brows furrowed slightly.

“Anne! I require assistance down here! Tillie’s already drunk as a skunk, and I’m afraid Ruby isn’t far behind! Oh, Mrs Blackmore is going to _murder_ us… that is if Lily doesn’t get to us first…”

Eyes fluttering open once more, Anne chuckled, carefully setting the letter on her bedside table, leaving an unmarked kiss at its signature. Getting to her feet, she pulled out the pins and ties that held her hair in place and went giddily down the staircase. Gilbert would be there, waiting, but in the meantime, she had an entire life here. And she was going to live it to absolute fullest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Daffodil: the flower of New Beginnings_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuckn shit, the speed at which i wrote this is inhuman. i swear.
> 
> um so yeah updates definitely aint gonna be this regular. Illl try to post every two weeks or so, cos i love writing this and would love to see all of your reactions
> 
> I absolutely adore all kudos and comments, subscriptions, everything. they make me lit up like christmas tree <3 
> 
> Next Time: teens being teens at a teen party. anne is constantly triggered by bigots, we see our favourite rainbow  
> boi and oh hello, who's this new mans ?


	3. Alstroemeria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne, Diana, Cole and the rest of their Avonlea friends attend their first college soiree, and Anne meets an intriguing enigma of a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays everyone!  
> hope you all had an amazing time with loved ones - no matter what you celebrate!  
> this is the last update before we enter the roaring 20s (IM SO EXCITED FOR ALL THE SWING MUSIC), but i just want to say thank you for all the reviews on the first chapter. they make my heart SOAR
> 
> enjoy this new chapter! x

“Anne?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think it’d be a right horrendous thing if I were to get my ears pierced?”

The redhead glanced up from her letter-in-progress to where Josie Pye stood before the mirror, leaning in close to inspect her features. Mouth popping open in quiet stupor, Anne furrowed her brows, placing the pen down to turn her full, perplexed attention to the lithe blonde, hands coming together over her crossed legs.

“What’s brought this on?”

She watched on as her friend continued to survey herself in a calculating manner. “It’s just… I feel like I need to make a statement. After the whole fiasco with _Billy_ ”, she said his name like a curse, “I want the next possible suitor to be very clear that I make my own decisions for myself; and that while I may _want_ a suitor, I certainly don’t require one. Earrings are currently becoming popular in the States. Thought maybe some little pearls or something. Or is that too flamboyant?”

Anne shook her head good-naturedly. “You know, Josie, while I commend you for being so independent-minded, there are other ways and means of making known your stance on such matters. Have you considered… pants, perhaps?”

A rather derisive snort sounded from across as Josie straightened, fixing her with a mortified gaze. “Good Lord, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you’re out of your mind; not on your life. I like my femininity, thank you very much.”

Anne laughed openly, getting up to walk over to the other girl, standing behind her and planting gentle hands on her shoulders. Together, they looked into the mirror.

“Dear girl, you already have enough natural beauty to attract the shallowest of men. What most fail to see about you is your unwaveringly strong heart. You’re so good, and most importantly, you’ve _worked_ to be good. You’ve grown so much from where you were. It’s highly admirable, and it is for _that_ reason that any man should be lucky to be called yours.”

Josie’s breath halted; her ice-blue eyes fixed on Anne’s stormy ones. They grew somewhat misty and she looked down momentarily, her hand coming to cover the ones upon her shoulders. The redhead squeezed affectionately before the blonde promptly looked up, stoic expression back in place once more.

“Well, of course – _I_ know that. Let’s just hope that Billy hasn’t been slandering my name any further to any other men.”

Anne snorted, patting the puffed sleeves before her. “If he even dares, I’ll come at him with more than just a piece of profound penmanship.”

“Anne, don’t even _joke_ about that.”

“I play the mere shadow of jester; don’t pay me any mind”, she chuckled, swatting her playfully. With that, she turned on her heel back toward her vanity table and her precious letter. Sparing one last glance over her shoulder, she smiled knowingly. “The sun seems to be bidding her daily farewell. I’d say we have less than an hour till the party. Might be time to start on your hair, don’t you think?”

Josie gasped, frantic hands instinctually flying to her near-perfect hair as she whirled to face the mirror again. After a beat, she frowned, turning to Anne with a scowl. “I don’t appreciate what you are insinuating, Shirley. My hair looks plenty graceful as always… On an unrelated note, I’ll be off to acquire Jane’s assistance in… my, my dress.”

Anne’s vision followed the all-too-nonchalant girl out the door, all while she stifled a snicker. As soon as Josie was out of earshot, she released the chuckle, shaking her head as she wheeled around in the wooden chair; picking up her fountain pen once more to let its midnight ink decorate the page.

“So, it is with… greatest gumption – yes – and sincerity that I strongly implore you to investigate this horrifying happenstance further and illuminate in national daylight for all of Canada to see. This injustice and immoral treatment of our fellow human is not what our beloved nation is founded on: equality, freedom, and respect for all individuals in society. I try to imagine that it is only of Prince Edward Island that this extortion of the original owners of this land is being implemented, yet common sense leads me to unfortunately decipher otherwise. These people are suffering at the hands of visitors; people whom in which they welcomed into their home, only to have a knife brandished upon them. They matter just as much as any descendant of France, England, or Scotland, like myself. I thank you again for taking time to read my letter, and I do pray you’ll pay due consideration to my words. I now pass the baton onto you, dear members of The Globe, and eagerly wait to see how you step forward. With regards and anticipation, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Taking a verbalised breath, she set the pen down again, scanning over the words with a quiet pride. She nodded with satisfaction as she finished, reaching over for previously prepared envelope and slid it in. She quickly ran the tip of her tongue along the flap’s ridges and sealed it close. Placing it down, she smiled to herself and breathed a sharp sigh of relief before frowning in consideration. After a moment of thought, she leaned back for the drawer and pulled it out, revealing a small container and imprinting stamp.

Carefully taking them out the air of a jeweller handling the most precious diamond, she clicked open the small black box and bit her lip. “Yes… I think this could be considered a significant enough letter for a proper, official appearance.”

Anne picked up the handle of the small, wooden instrument, and dipped its utilised end into the red substance within the box. The gravity of it being the first time she’d used this settled, and with controlled excitement, she placed it down ever so carefully onto the junction of the letter’s connected flap, pushing it down gently until the overlay of wax reached out from underneath. Satisfied that it had solidified enough, she removed and grinned openly at the elegant, regal initials staring back at her: _A.S.C_.

It had been a gift from her most dazzlingly autonomous Aunt Josephine; designed and delivered by the hands of one Cole Mackenzie when they’d met for tea to discuss his coming to the soirée. He’d relayed how it had been their simultaneous idea to congratulate Anne on her most successful exam results and commencement of college. They’d thought that she’d benefit from having incredibly impressive and personal sealing wax on her letters. Anne had gushed appreciatively at the thoughtful gift, yet admitted it was so extraordinary, she’d only feel comfortable using it for the most important of correspondences. This one addressed to The Globe was a prime example of one such letter.

She placed it down, patting it gently before rising from the stool to move toward the bedroom’s full-length mirror. Stepping into her reflection, she hummed in thought, glancing over her figure. It had been a rather quiet Saturday and she hadn’t left the house, so there hadn’t been any real guilt when she’d opted out of a corset for the better part of the day. Her hair was down in the alarming familiar loose waves that had begun to shape her hair since she’d been wearing it up. It cascaded like a fiery waterfall down her shoulders and onto her old-but-gold bottle green pinafore. Her flourishing womanly figure was hidden by the loose-fitting, comfortable folds of the dress, and for a moment, Anne could imagine she was staring into the mirror of her Green Gables room. Oh, yes, she most certainly could imagine it indeed.

“Perhaps I could also imagine I had the ability to wave a magic wand and be instantly transformed into shimmering noblewoman for tonight”, she thought aloud with a sigh, turning side on to grimace at a loose thread. “It would most definitely save me the time and strife of doing this on every which occasion a party arises… Oh well, I suppose there is something to be said for the effort it takes to put on such an appearance.”

With that, she smoothed the creases of her childhood dress down and nodded, pivoting to walk toward her closet. Upon opening its doors, she smiled as her vision was encompassed by the most beautiful blue. She reached in eagerly, carefully removing her beloved Marilla’s dress from its hanger with excited eyes. She loved every little detail of it: the pretty white lace, the most desirable of puffed sleeves, and the stunningly striking cerulean fabric.

Smiling, she walked with it toward the bed, laying it down as she began to remove the layers of her current attire. The familiar whistle of a blue jay called to her from outside, and she turned to face the window, where she knew a nest was settled within the branches of a nearby oak.

“Oh! Salutations, Little Laurie; what fine weather to be flying free in”, she called back as she removed her undergarments in favour for her corset. “You know, you are truly blessed with the most beautiful colour. I mean blue, of course, as whole – though, your particular shade of azure is simply divine. Blue is such a deep and wonderful colour; did you know that it represents trust, loyalty, wisdom, confidence and intelligence? It’s the most royal of colours, in my opinion – perhaps maybe except for purple. Nevertheless, its simultaneously bold and elegant, and there’s a real beauty in that.”

In amidst her grunts of tugging the strings and straps of the binding clothing, she paused, pursing her lips. “Perhaps I should go about finding a blue flower to send to Gilbert. Yes, yes that would be truly symbolic, and I should check my dear mother’s book to correlate it to an equally symbolic flower. Something that conveys… eternal love. To remind him that I am his, and he is mine. Maybe it could bring him some solace away from home. He must miss it dearly… I’m barely a walk away from Green Gables, yet I still miss it and everyone there with all my heart. Little Butterscotch must be getting so much bigger and more beautiful every day. And I do hope Prejudice isn’t too lonely without Pride, now. But I’m certain Matthew must be taking exceptional care of her.”

“Oh, Matthew. And Marilla!” she exclaimed, pulling her blue dress over her figure in a rather clumsy fashion. “I miss them so, Laurie. How did you feel when you left the warmth and safety of your nest? I’m sure it was exhilarating, but also utterly terrifying, too. And ever so uncertain. You’re leaving behind everything you’ve come to know and love dearly to leap into the unknown, hoping that you’re prepared enough for life’s trials. Spreading one’s wings is quite possibly the biggest leap any of us can make. But that’s what faith is for, isn’t it? We must have faith, in God’s plan and our own capabilities. And like preparing for harvest, we must constantly tend to the soil of our skills, intelligence and inner strength. There’s a real beauty in that, I think.”

With her dress now firmly hugging her figure with the assistance of the corset, Anne hummed, nodding in satisfaction before walking toward the mirror once more. Quickly inspecting it for any ailments or errors, and happy to find none, she smiled wide, pearly teeth gleaming back at her. She would never hold a dime to Diana’s or Ruby’s beauty, but she supposed there was a certain elegant dignity to the womanly appearance she was growing into. Grey-blue eyes flickered upward, and she blew through her lips. If only there was something along those lines to be said for her hair. She’d heard a few passing comments about it becoming darker, but it was hard for her to tell, as she saw it every day, and small changes were easily untraceable by such eyes.

Nevertheless, she could be thankful that Marilla’s dress and its beautiful colour complimented her fair complexion and striking hair colour rather nicely. Turning back toward the window, she waved gently. “Have a wonderful evening, Mr Laurie. I’m about to have my own.”

* * *

Half an hour or so later, Anne stood amongst her friends as they giggled excitedly. She peered into a stained-glass window, squinting at her just-discernible reflection as she looped a ringlet in her index and twirled it. Diana had courteously tamed her wild red locks into a lovely, simple bun, making sure to leave some pretty curls out to frame her face. Tillie had then announced she had some special products for their night, and had generously shared and applied a lovely rouge to the girls’ cheeks.

Glancing around at her friends, Anne took a moment to appreciate them. Just over a month ago, they’d been in boots and knee-length dresses, with big and bold bows within their loose hair. Now, they resembled mature, civilised, elegant women just as much as the next twenty-or-something year old walking down the street. Her chest filled with loving pride.

“Ugh, can we _please_ go already? The soirée starts in ten minutes, and I want enjoy every second we have there!” Josie groaned, adjusting her sleeve cuffs absentmindedly.

Anne let out a snort. Well, at the end of the day, they were still sixteen.

Ruby turned on her, brows furrowed and button nose wiggling. “I _told_ you; we have to wait for _Moody_. It’s improper for us to walk at night without an escort. You know this, Josie!”

“Or maybe you just want to walk in with your arm in Moody’s”, Jane teased, darkened lashes winking suggestively.

“And what if I do?” Ruby rebutted, completely unfazed. “He _is_ my suitor, and I don’t want any other girls thinking he’s theirs for the taking!”

The girls chuckled as Ruby’s complexion soon matched her French-rose dress. Anne stifled her chuckles with the back of hand, resting the other against her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, Ruby, Moody is just as much yours as you are his. And I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

That seemed to settle some unspoken concern of her golden-haired friend, and she smiled appreciatively.

As if some answer from the universe, a knock sounded at that very moment. Ruby’s eyes blew wide and she immediately pushed through past Anne, hushing her teasing friends as she made it to the door. Anne bit her smiling lip as the other girl took an exaggerated breath, smoothing hands over her hair before slowly reaching for the door handle and turning it.

It was barely twenty inches wide before she scampered through, squealing as she leapt into the arms of the person waiting just beyond the threshold. Diana opened the door the rest of the way, and the girls cooed as they watched Moody holding Ruby above the ground, spinning around in his arms as the young couple beamed. It was only when the tall, young man settled her back to earth that Anne realised there was another figure of similar description behind him.

“Cole!” she exclaimed, slipping through the throng of girls to loop her arms around her close friend. The two chuckled as they clutched at each other, ignoring chatter behind them. Anne pulled away, though kept her hands on the lapel of his dark green three-piece suit as she gave him a once-over.

“Mr Mackenzie, dare I say you scrub up _impeccably_ well”, she said, looking up into his twinkling sea-green eyes.

He grinned back, lifting a dramatic hand as he shrugged his shoulders. “As if Jo would ever let me leave the house in a state less than fabulous, darling Anne. And look at yourself! Any artist would be lucky to call you his muse.”

“You’ve already seen me in this dress, Cole – it’s nothing new”, she scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Ah, but like any artist, when something is truly beautiful, it’ll leave you in awe every time.”

“Flatterer”, she smirked, stepping aside as Diana then came through to greet their old friend.

“So good to see you again, Cole”, the raven-haired girl said, patting her tall friend’s back.

Pulling apart, he smiled gently. “Likewise. And how are you, Diana? Enjoying Queen’s?”

“Very much so. It’s nice to have bit of freedom away from home, you know?”

“Believe me, I definitely do.”

Anne smiled, watching adoringly as her brave kindred spirits caught up. Then her eyes widened, suddenly remembering their other company. “Oh! Introductions, or rather _re_ introductions.”

Grabbing Cole’s hand, and pulled him toward the misshapen circle of friends. “Everyone, for those who don’t remember, this is Cole Mackenzie. He went to school with us a couple of years ago.”

Josie quirked a brow. “I remember. You smashed Billy’s head against a furnace.”

Anne cringed as her friend winced, free hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “R-right… yes, I… did do that. I may have tried to repress that particular memory… Sorry for that poor impression.”

“Don’t apologise”, the blonde replied, coming forward to stand right underneath his nose. “I think you and I are going to get along _just_ fine.”

Anne and Diana shared a look as Cole stared wide-eyed at the blonde in front of him, blinking profusely as he paled. “U-uhm… okay.”

Tillie clapped her hands, waltzing down the stairs before turning back to her friends. “Alrighty then, we’re all set. Let’s _go!_ ”

The group laughed, making their way down the stairs, along the footpath and onto the avenue. Priscilla’s house was only a few minutes’ walk away, so they dissolved into idle chatter. Anne looped her arms with Diana and Cole, taking the lead of the group down the footpath as they caught each other up on their respective weeks.

“It’s amazing; Jo – oh, sorry Diana – _Josephine_ has been incredibly proactive in sharing examples of my works to her high-class friends and diplomats. One fellow actually _approached_ me at the house the other day and asked for a commission. A _commission_! Can you believe it?”

“Oh, I absolutely can”, Anne gushed, squeezing his arm affectionately, “You’re so talented that the only thing I can’t believe is that it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Anne’s right”, Diana chimed in, “You’ve got a wonderful gift, Cole. I’m so glad to see you flourishing in doing what you’re passionate for. You are a true inspiration.”

The subject of the matter dipped his head as a blush spread across his cheekbones. “You’re both far too generous in your compliments. And I’m incredibly humbled. After all, I get to attend a party with two of the most beautiful, enchanting women of Avonlea on my arms. I should forewarn you that any men who try to engage with you tonight will have to undergo a series of tests conducted by me. Only the most eligible of bachelors are coming within ten feet of you girls.”

“Please, Cole” Anne snorted, “you sound as if _you’re_ the one chaperoning us when I feel as though _I_ am very much chaperoning the two of you. After all, it’s not as if I’m free to any unsuspecting men I might meet tonight.”

As Diana shared a knowing smirk with her friend, Cole looked confusedly between the two of them. “I’m missing something… Yes, I am definitely missing something. Anne, what terrible secret are you hiding from me?”

At that, Anne removed her arm from Cole’s to give him a chastising smack against his bicep, laughing as she did so. “Cole! Why must you always assume that I’m up to mischievous things?”

“Because you are”, both her companions answered simultaneously.

“Oh, hush, the both of you”, she grumbled back, slowly slipping her arm within Cole’s once more. “Well, regardless of any past dealings, I can assure you that this time round, it’s nothing terrible. In fact,” she paused briefly, biting her lip, “it’s quite possibly one of the best, most exciting things to ever happen to me. A dream come true, though so, _so_ much better than any dream my imagination could conjure up.”

“Stop it; you’re absolutely killing me in the suspense and you know it.”

“Okay… here goes…”

“Anne!”

“Alright, I’m messing! It’s just so fun to watch you tremble so anticipatedly. But… I shall torture you no more”, she trailed off, turning to fix her eyes on slither of remaining path ahead. Only another two or so houses and they’d arrive.

With a twinkle in her eyes as she controlled her face, she simply said, “Gilbert Blythe and I are courting.”

The man beside her faltered, and she bit her lip to stop the building laugh from splitting her face as he stopped, staring disbelievingly at her. His eyes narrowed. “You’re joking.”

“I am in fact, not joking.”

He turned to their other friend. “Diana, she’s joking.”

“Miraculously, she’s not joking.”

He stepped back, pointing accusatory fingers between the two of them. “You’re _both_ joking, and this is some weird sort of prank.”

Diana let out a bark of laughter while Anne shook her head, looking up at her bemused companion. “Cole, I swear on my own insane existence that I’m not joking, nor is Diana. Gilbert and I began courting two weeks ago.”

He straightened, pausing to consider her greatly before he spoke again. “Cross your heart?”

“And hope to die. Preferably from lovesickness.”

Suddenly, his face lifted and he rushed forward, grabbing Anne’s waist as he gently shook her. “I knew it!”

As Anne burst out in euphoria-filled laughter, Diana quirked a brow. “But… you literally just said-”

“I _kneeew_ it, I _gueeessed_ it, I was right, you _were_ in _deniiiial_. All. That. _Time_!” he sung, swinging her around as she squealed in his grasp.

“Oh my goodness, let me down, you heathen!” she cried entirely joyfully, catching her breath as he finally placed her down on the ground. Looking up into his radiant face, she pursed her lips. “Not. A. Word. More.”

His mouth drew into a thin line, lips sealing close as he practically buzzed on the spot, flashing eyes darting between hers. However, within a few beats, his mouth opened and went on an unstoppable steamroll. “Did I not tell you two years ago that Gilbert had a crush on you? And what was it you said again? ‘W-what? No, he couldn’t _possibly_ love me; an intelligent, compassionate, breathtakingly and uniquely beautiful goddess – I mean, a homely orphan. He does _not_ have a crush on me, Cole, you wise, all-knowing being who I should definitely listen to when it comes to romantical boys.’”

“I- I didn’t say that. And that is _not_ what I sound like!”

“And so, for the next few years, he pined after you, longing to feel the slate of your loving emotions crack onto him.”

“I don’t appreciate the metaphor.”

“Living in the depths of despair of unrequited love, thinking he’d be a lonesome bachelor the rest of his days. Yet, in twist of events, the object of his affection was to be utterly smitten with him also. They skirted around one another, a collection of missed opportunities, constantly being _driven mad_ with heartache.”

“Anne, I fear he may take your place as our residential poet. He’s rather good.”

“Until one day, in a complete happenstance of right timing and right place, they both met one another, drawn together like magnets, and revealed their undying love – this is just what I’m envisioning, but the two of you are so clueless and dramatic, I can’t really see it going any other way.”

“Hey, you three! Think you could keep moving? You’re holding us up terribly and we’re going to be late”, Josie said suddenly, tapping Anne on the shoulder.

The redhead could have kissed her blonde friend in that moment. Threading her arms back through the other two, she walked them through the archway that led toward Priscilla’s house. “Thank God, yes, of course. Let’s go.”

From beside her, Diana grinned alarmingly wickedly. “Just to let you know, Cole; you weren’t too far off from the actual truth there. Quite almost hit the nail on the head.”

Anne grumbled as the tall young man cackled beside them. “Why doesn’t that surprise me. Only Gilbert and Anne. Anne and Gilbert. Oh! Mrs Gilbert Blythe? Or perhaps Anne Blythe.”

“Okay! We’re here!” the redhead in question suddenly exclaimed, feeling her face overheat far too much for the late September chill. Spinning around at the face of the door, she stared down her two friends. “That is _quite_ enough entertainment at my expense, thank you very much. Diana, darling, I _beg_ you to grant me mercy, and I will allow you to read Gilbert’s recent letter when we arrive back.”

“Wait, there’s a letter?”

“Cole”, she announced, wheeling onto him next, “I love you. Very much so. And you may ask whatever questions you wish to – _after_ tonight. For now, let us enjoy the company of future friends, hm? Am I clear?”

His eyebrows raised incredulously. “You’re expecting to hold my tongue after that bomb upon my conscience?”

“Do I make myself _clear_?”

“Anne, I’m bursting at the seams here.”

“Cole, I will not ask again.”

The two initiated a brief battle of will as they stared ferociously at one another. Finally, Cole conceded with a heavy sigh. “Crystal clear.”

Immediately, Anne’s entire demeanour changed, and a beaming smile erupted on her face as she knocked on the door. “Brilliant. Now, let’s make this a phenomenally glamorous night that we’ll never forget.”

“The ‘forgetting’ part will be determined entirely by how much whiskey these friends of yours are supplying, I’m afraid.”

Sparing him a pointed look over her shoulder, Anne turned back at the click and then creak of the opening door, smiling brightly as she was met with Priscilla’s radiant face, accompanied with regal lavender-coloured attire. “Anne! So glad you could make it. Oh, look at _this_ ;” she praised, delicate fingertips touching the blue fabric of her dress, “this is simply divine. You look beautiful, Anne.”

“Why thank you, Pris – it was a gift crafted by my dear Marilla back home. I adore it with everything I am. Oh, save for these two shimmering diamonds”, she gestured behind her to where Diana and Cole stood, politely waiting. “Pris, you’re already acquainted well with Diana,” the two girls shared a smile and wave, “but I’d like for you to meet my dear, old friend, Cole Mackenzie. Cole, this is my lovely classmate, Priscilla Grant.”

Cole’s eyes twinkled, and he stepped forward with an open hand. “Ah, so this is y _our_ establishment and _your_ soirée I am to be joyfully attending tonight. I must thank you in advance for your incredible hospitality, Miss Grant.”

Softly chuckling as she placed a hand in his, Priscilla smiled slyly as a soft kiss was placed upon her knuckles. “Charming, Mr Mackenzie. Please feel free to call me Priscilla, or even Pris – no need for formalities among friends. Wonderful manners, I must say. However, I am afraid that flattery is only going to get you so far, and you’d find yourself in thick competition here tonight.”

Releasing her hand, Cole chuckled in return. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Priscilla – you’re a truly beautiful young woman, and if you’re friends with Anne-girl here, you must have an equally beautiful soul. But I’m not interested in being anything more than friendly with you. Or rather… any women here tonight.”

Faded recognition lit in the girl’s green eyes, and she nodded knowingly. “Ah… a taken man, I presume?”

“Well… not exactly…”

“Oh! So sorry to rush this greeting, but would you all mind stepping inside?” Priscilla interjected, ushering the trio through the doorway. “There are some more people behind you waiting to come in… though, I don’t believe I recognise them…”

“Goodness, come on over, everyone”, Diana exclaimed, turning around to stretch a beckoning hand outward. “Priscilla, allow me to introduce the other residents of Blackmore House. This is Josie Pye, Tillie Boulter, Jane Andrews, Ruby Gillis and her suitor, Moody Spurgeon.”

As their friends waved in greeting, Priscilla clasped her hands together, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “My, what a pleasure to be blessed with so many new faces! Thank you all for coming – please, come in, come in! Beverages and refreshments are on the lower level, there’s a sitting room down the corridor and to the left, music is playing in our makeshift ballroom just opposite that. Immediately up the stairs, you’ll find the washroom on your right. Refrain from opening closed doors – those belong to the girls who live here, and they would not take kindly to strangers stumbling across their personals. If you have any questions at all throughout the night, do not hesitate to ask me – or Phillipa! That flighty girl is around here somewhere… Anyways, I must attend to my other guests, but have a good night!”

The group barely got out their replies before the young woman was off, golden bun bouncing as she moved swiftly between the various, unfamiliar faces. Anne shared a bemused laugh with her friends before promptly stepping further into the house.

Some American baritone’s voice upon a record gradually flooded in along with a cacophony of voices. The redhead breathed an exhilarated breath out, wide eyes glancing around the enormous expanse of her friend’s extravagant home. She dashed forward, peeking into the sitting room and at the inhabitants within. Ladies and gentlemen spoke animatedly, dressed in the most incredible variety of garments. A few glanced her way – some offering gentle smiles whilst others fixed her with incredulous looks. She beamed brightly at the lot of them, swinging back outward to be met with Diana’s amused expression.

“Isn’t this great, Diana? So many new faces, so many potential friends”, she sighed dreamily. Looking around, she saw her childhood chums had also rushed in; Tillie and Jane had gone giggling into the parlour just past the door, where the smell of alcohol was emanating strongly from. Ruby and Moody, arm in arm, had walked further down, gazes plastered to each other as they glided into ballroom. As for Josie, she had quite literally attached herself to poor Cole, who appeared rather taken aback by the girl’s fervency as they pivoted between drinking and dancing.

“Should… we help Cole?” she said, grimacing.

Diana shot her a beguiling smile. “I think he can manage… besides, now he can’t pepper you with queries.”

“Diana, you beautiful mad-genius.”

“I try.”

The two shared a chuckle, then stepped forth into the partying congregate, arms looped comfortably. As they walked, Anne saw Diana shift in her periphery, and she tilted her head as the raven-haired girl turned her head, taking all the possible sights in. “It’s rather different to Aunt Josephine’s soirée we attended, don’t you agree?”

“Well”, Anne cocked her head, “I suppose there were a _lot_ more civilised adults with worldly experience there; less excitable and intoxicated teenagers clumsily traipsing into adulthood.”

At that moment, the two came to an abrupt halt as a trio of young men stumbled in front of them, arms locked around one another’s shoulders as they sang rather incoherently. As they passed, the two shared a look of surprise before bursting into laughter, leaning on each other for support as the energy of the surrounding party flooded into their bloodstream.

“Case a-and point”, Anne chuckled, biting her fist as the laughter racked her body. Controlling her breathing once more, she pointed forward with her free hand. “Shall – shall we head toward the ballroom? Maybe we can pull out our good old friend, the White Sergeant.”

Something twinkled in her bosom friend’s eyes. “After we get ourselves acquainted with the beverages.”

* * *

Two shots and a glass of ten-year-old red wine each later, Anne and Diana went giggling, stumbling their way into the ballroom. The air was hot with the crowded, moving bodies as everyone danced around the space. Slotting themselves into the progression of dancers, the two girls threw their heads back in laughter as they clumsily waltzed around the other couples. Anne’s footing slipped on occasion, and she wheezed as Diana’s hands frantically grasped at her waist, expression comically shocked as she struggled to keep the two of them upright. The bubbly, racing energy of the room was contagious, and they took turn dramatically spinning and dipping each other, shouting apologies over the noise as they bumped into other couples. Time blended together, and it was only Anne's shortness of breath that told her the high-energy expenditure could not be easily sustained over a long time.

“Diana”, Anne said through the dizzy haze, “I need to warn Gilbert.”

“Warn… warn Gilbert of what?” she replied, wide eyes slightly unfocused as they locked on her own.

Anne then leaned in until her friend’s ringlets were tangling with her own, stage-whispering, “That he may some romantical rivalry in the form of none other than my bosom friend.”

Diana scrunched up her face and made an outrageous shushing noise. “Don’t say it out loud! The people could gossip, Anne!”

“I don’t care for it, which is why we would elope. Run away to the Caribbean where we could bask in the sun and become Greek goddesses.”

“But the _slander_ – I don’t know if I could hope to bear it.”

“I would become some infamous writer, working under a male pseudonym; and you, lovely Diana, would be my muse. The Susan Gilbert to my Emily Dickinson!”

“Oh, but you just mentioned his name! Even when you plan our engagement, you’re thinking of him. I could never compete with him, Anne, and so I must concede and wither away from our romance.”

“Heavens, no! You mustn’t break my heart like this.”

“I’m sorry, dear one, but I must put a stop to this now.”

“Be steady, my beating heart. It was so short, yet ever so sweet!”

The two collapsed on each other in a fit of laughter, apologies of crashing into the other dancers only adding to the increasing humour of the situation. Anne caught glimpses of the raised brows and rolling eyes, but all she could see was the grin spreading across her apple-checked best friend. A particular ringlet of her handsome hair had become misshapen, and the redhead’s hand reached up to curl around it and brush it back into place. The two girls gathered their breaths, smiling softly at each other.

Diana’s lips quirked before her eyes suddenly cast downward. “Speaking of his name, you must be missing Gilbert terribly. Especially tonight.”

Anne smiled bittersweetly, taking a deep breath as she tended to her own unravelling hair. “Well… yes, but I can’t let it get to me to much. After all, my night could never be too terrible if spent with my bosom friend.”

“The feelings are mutual”, she replied kindly.

“Besides, we’re two young independent women in their absolute prime. This is the best time of our lives; all the possibilities are endless. We don’t need to be tied down by the woes of men.”

Diana shrugged her shoulders, brows raising. “Yes… but you still _have_ a man. I, while not needing one, mind you, do not. But would I mind having one.”

“I _kind_ of want to bring up Jerry…” Anne said, grimacing slightly.

“Please don’t. That was just… I don’t know. I am very sorry for how I acted during that whole situation, and even more sorry that I never apologised to Jerry, but… but I would love to experience something like that again”, she murmured wistfully. “Yes… something like that, but different.”

Anne hummed, offering a small smile as she let go of Diana’s hand. “You know you still have… plenty of time. There’s no need to rush finding the one.”

“No, I know. But… you know.”

“ _Ahem_ , excuse me.”

The two young women turned abruptly only to come face-to-face with a young, slightly nervous man. His ash blond hair was heavily gelled back, save for the few stray strands that fell across soft, kind brown eyes. Glancing down, Anne’s lips quirked at the outstretched hand very much directed toward a clueless Diana.

“Pardon the interruption, but I-I noticed you arrive before and promised myself I’d make the effort to approach you. I was wondering if you’d perhaps allow me a dance?” he said, all too stoically as his fingers trembled.

Glancing between the man and her dumbstruck friend, Anne’s heart instantly melted and mind sped up to initiate her sudden plan of action.

“Yes”, she said fervently, pressing a hand in between her dearest friend’s shoulder blades, gently pushing her into the arms of the waiting gentleman, “you absolutely may.”

“Anne!” Diana hissed, shooting her a pointed look as her face went red. Anne sent her an impossibly wide grin back as her hand slipped into the young man’s.

“Would you believe; she was _just_ waiting for a handsome gentleman such as yourself to come waltzing through. What may she call you, good sir?”

The two of them kept their eyes flickering madly between each other, and Anne was practically bursting with giddiness when the young man stuttered back, “F-Fred. Fred Wright, Miss…”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert”, she introduced, then gestured toward the strangely tongue-tied girl to her side. “And this is my dearest friend, Diana Barry.”

“Diana Barry…” Fred muttered back, brown eyes softening as a sudden calmness overtook him, his stubby fingers flexing experimentally around Diana’s own dainty ones. “You’re quite easily the most beautiful woman in the room tonight.”

As Diana’s blush reached her ears, his eyes blew wide once more, and he looked toward Anne in a sudden panic. “Oh! Please, don’t take offense, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert – you too are incredibly striking.”

Anne somehow grinned even wider. “None taken at all, Mr Wright. I actually agree with you whole-heartedly on that statement. However, I should also tell you that Diana here is also in possession of the kindest heart here, and most engaging conversationalist – just to forewarn of her absolute brilliance.”

“A-actually, that’s – that’s Anne”, Diana spoke for the first time, mouth running at a million miles per hour. “Though, that’s not to say I _don’t_ have a good heart, because I most certainly do, or at least I-I like to think so. It’s not arrogant to say that, is it? A-and I do believe I am able to provide stimulating conversation; though, again, that may just be from my mother’s training. She was training me for finishing school but I continually insisted that it was imperative I attend college, so that’s why I’m here. And I’m rambling and oh my gosh, this doesn’t normally happen, I- ”

Anne was barely holding back a delighted cackle as she watched a masculine hand slip behind Diana’s back, coming to rest ever-so-slightly on the small of her back. The sudden shift of contact elicited a sharp intake of breath from Diana, and the pair locked eyes, barely moving as they stared at one another. With questioning eyes, Fred raised their loose hands. “May I have this dance, Miss Barry?”

For a moment, Anne drilled holes into the side of Diana’s head, for all she did was stand utterly frozen. Then, slowly, tentatively, she smiled; eyes softening as she shifted her hand within Fred’s so they became interlocked. “You certainly may, Mr Wright.” Sparing the redhead a glance as the pair began to glide away, she called out, “I’ll uh… catch up with you later, Anne?”

She nodded, beaming as she called back, “Quarter past eight: meet back in the parlour. You two have a splendid time!”

And suddenly, she was alone. Not in the literal sense, of course, given the crowd of people surrounding her, but it was a claustrophobic loneliness. She spied Ruby and Moody to the side, entirely lost in their own little world as they swayed gently to the music. The prospect of making new connections normally thrilled her, but everyone around her seemed… secure. Like they had found their people and were completely content. Like it would be rude of Anne to barge in. Sighing, she picked up her chin and walked out of the ballroom and into the crowded hallway. There really were so, so many intriguing faces, and she wondered what stories lay beyond those strange eyes. She walked along, humming the current tune silently, nodding politely to any she passed.

She made for the staircase, and had her foot poised and ready to step up when she saw the welcomingly familiar face of Cole, standing off to the side, shrouded by the shadows of a corner. Her face lifted and she went over to surprise him, only to realise he was already in the company of a shorter young man with a golden face. The two appeared to be talking in hushed tones, heads bowed toward each other, and Cole’s eyes possessed a certain softness she’d yet to ever see on him. Her heart ached and she cocked her head, smiling softly at the tender exchange. She’d ask him about it later, but for now, Anne didn’t wish to disrupt that already too delicate balance.

And so, she continued up the stairs, holding her dress carefully as not to have the unfortunate experience of tripping – especially in her slightly intoxicated stage. As she stepped further away from the people and the music, the thrilling buzz within her lessened, and she found the giddy energy being replaced with a quiet contentment. There were only a handful of people passing by as she walked along the corridor, attention fixated on the range of artworks. She paused at one: an oil canvas depicting a young woman who sat amongst the seaside grass. Anne’s finger gently traced over the girl’s pretty porcelain complexion, gliding across her strawberry blonde hair and baby blue dress. She looked… tranquil. At peace. Anne smiled.

Stepping forward, she turned to continue onto the washroom when something caught her eye. Further down the hallway, right at the end near the window, was a dip in the left wall. Her adventurous curiosity called like a siren, and furrowing her brows, she tiptoed carefully toward it. Gentle fingers crept around the wall’s edge, and as she rounded the surprise corner, she gasped softly.

Laid before her, hidden away from prying eyes, was the quaintest, most inviting library she’d ever been blessed to see. She breathed deeply, mouth opened wide as she stepped further in, glancing up and around at the alstroemeria-yellow Victorian ceiling in all its detailed design. She smiled wonderfully, hand coming up to cup her parted lips. Looking to the left of the room, she was greeted with a grand painting of Her Royal Highness, pout, gothic clothing and all. Anne stifled a giggle, coming before the set of chairs and trestle table to curtsy low.

“Your Majesty”, she breathed as a whisper, the air strangely tangible, “I must humbly thank you for the fateful opportunity of stumbling across this secret garden. I am mere college student, yet feel as though I’ve blessed with the wholly-encompassing world here tonight. Yes, I should be honing my social skills as a young woman entering society on her own two feet, but clearly, I can never resist the enticing call of hardback novels. This is easily the widest, most incredible range of books I’ve ever bared witness to.”

She stepped toward one of the five, looming racks and let her fingertip glide across spine after spine as she walked along. “By what clandestine coincidence did I stumble across this treasure chest tonight? I marvel at how Lady Fortuna works, truly. I mean, look at these titles! ‘Wuthering Heights’, ‘Black Beauty’, oh, my beloved ‘Pride and Prejudice’, and – hm, I’ve never heard of this one… ‘Little Women’. Oh, this… this has turned an excitable night into simply the most tremendously idyllic experience, I just – _oh my God_!”

In a blinking instance, gravity shifted and Anne leapt back, turning sharply at the sight of a figure in shadows. She groaned softly, brushing down the ruffles of her dress. “Lord, I am _so_ sorry. I had no idea anyone was up here.”

For a moment, as the figure walked into the dim-lighting of the sole lantern, Anne could’ve sworn the ruffled dark hair and tall, punctuated physique belonged to none other than her Gilbert, and her breath shortened. It was only when the young man spoke in a melting, melodic, unfamiliar voice that her enraptured heart settled once more. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I don’t even believe I should be up here in the first place.”

Anne hummed agreeingly, and the two strangers fell into a palpable silence as they silently conspired to inspect the shelves. After a minute or so of mindlessly flicking through blurbs, she cleared her throat. “So… you weren’t enjoying the party?”

She watched the outline of his shoulders shrug a couple of bookshelves down. “I like the social affair but… it’s odd. Sometimes it just becomes too much and I require a bit of solace.”

Anne could empathetically respect that, and all of sudden, she felt she’d become an intruder. “Oh, of course”, she cringed, carefully placing a book back in its spot. “I should leave you be, then.

“Oh no, please, you’re not imposing”, he exclaimed, stepping out and further up to where Anne stood, his handsome, diamond face suddenly illuminated. “Really, it’s more than fine, Miss…”

“Cuthbert”, she murmured, chest suddenly tight as she was met with impossibly dark green eyes. Remembering her manners, she stuck a hand out. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Bow-shaped lips quirked up in a small smile, and a velvet-soft hand was placed within her own. “Pleasure to meet you – Royal Gardner; though my friends call me Roy. At your service.”

Their hands dropped, and they stepped away from one another, turning their attention toward the books. Anne started to walk toward the end of the aisle, when she realised the soft imprint of Oxford shoes were sounding behind her. “So… may I ask, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert; what brings you to this unexplored corner of the house?”

“Well,” she started, clasping her hands together as she kept in front of this Roy Gardner, “I’m quite adventurous, you see, Mr Gardner. I was having a liberating time dancing with my friends downstairs, as we took turns tripping and gliding across the mahogany floor. But one of them – the one whom I was partnered to waltz with – got asked to dance by this young gentleman, and as a courier of love, I just had to step aside and allow destiny to take the reins. From there, I decided to let my feet take their own course, just wandering around this prodigious villa. Truth be told, I had no idea there existed a library up here, and _certainly_ not one of such calibre. Though, I’m ever so glad to have stumbled across it. I’m a lover of literature, you see.”

His steps faltered, and Anne turned her head to see Roy gazing at her, intrigued. “So I do see… well, maybe you can assist me then. I too enjoy a tale of trials in a novel, but I fear I’m a bit lost as to what I might find stimulating in this mass of books. You seem to be quite knowledgeable of such matters.”

Her face heated slightly, and she brushed a stray ringlet. “Well… I do indeed pride myself on being a guardian of the written word, so I’ll see how can be of guidance.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.”

“Please, call me Anne”, she smiled, slightly abashed. “Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, while a beloved reminder of my two separate heritages, is far too many syllables to say when there’s a much simpler, more sensible word to address me with.”

He quirked his brows, nodding as they continued to next aisle. “Simple, perhaps, but I find it to also be profound and beautiful… just like its holder”, he said with the slightest upturn of his lips.

“O-oh”, she replied, eyes widening in surprise and slight unease. “While I must thank you for your considerate compliment, I have to let you know that I am, in fact, involved with another young gentleman.”

“Ah,” he said, and Anne noted the way in which he then held back slightly, “my apologies, Anne. I didn’t mean to be improper.”

She smiled reassuringly. “No harm done. Oh, by the way, any particular genres that entice you?”

“Crime, historical fiction – particularly of Greek and Roman times; I find those to be incredibly poetic – and in that same way, fantasy is also so impressively imaginative. Moreover, I’ve always found romance to be rather melodic to my own heart’s beatings.”

“Well, that’s a great starting place, Mr Gardner. I can definitely find some works here to provide you that craved solace of mind.”

“If I am to call you Anne, I feel obliged to say you may call me Roy”, the tall, dark, and handsome man said beside her.

“Very well then”, she breathed. “Roy it is. Um… have you read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ perchance?”

His brows knitted. “Hm… can’t say I have; though, my younger sister, Dorothy, is quite the fan. She’s been hammering on my case for years about it. It’s something I’ve been meaning to get to, but haven’t quite yet.”

“Understandable, but your sister sounds like a very wise person, and you simply _must_ read it”, Anne insisted fervently. “Jane Austen was a genius; I’m forever envious over her magnanimous way with words. I read daily in the hopes that I’ll someday possess a fraction of her talent. And she was ever so ahead of her time, with her ideas and thoughts of women in society? It’s easily one of the greatest stories told, and I don’t mean in an arguable sense. Certainly rivals Shakespearean tragedies.”

“I think there’s a beauty in tragical tales, though”, Roy said as he stuffed his hands into the blazer pockets. “The raw, intense emotion they breed, that places a spotlight on our most inner humanity and breathes real life into it. They remind us that the world can be desolate desert, yet there is always something we find to be grateful for.”

The young woman had a feeling that this new acquaintance hadn’t experienced many tragical tales of his own to truly grasp the gravity of them. Nonetheless, she simply nodded, turning to him with a quiet smile. “You may have a point there.”

He hummed appreciatively, glancing down as they continued forward once more. “So… forgive me for perhaps baseless assumptions… but you are a beautiful and quite evidently intelligent young woman, who, if I remember correctly, claims to have a beau. If you would care to enlighten me… why isn’t he here by your side right now?”

The book that she’d been removing was paused, and with a sigh, she gently pushed it back into place. “Well, uh… he’s actually not here. As in locally, Charlottetown… Nor all of Prince Edward Island. He’s studying medicine, you see. In Toronto, actually”, she said softly, pride seeping through in her soft tone.

“Long-distance courtship”, he nodded in understanding. “That must be hard. For the both of you.”

“It _certainly_ doesn’t make things easier”, she thought aloud and rather bitterly. Breathing deeply, she eased the tension from her face and lightened her shoulders. “I feel that’s the nature of our relationship, though. He’s had a few moments of… lacking common-sense, and I’ve always had an unbelieveable talent of putting my foot in it with him. And then there’s all of our miscommunications…” she chuckled, shaking her head with a secret smile.

“But… he’s one of the _best_ people there is; his heart is just a bottomless pit of compassion, and he never fails to inspire me to be better. We’re the greatest team I know, and we’re both more than willing to make it work, no matter the distance.”

“Wow… that’s beautifully profound”, Roy murmured, his shoulder just brushing with her own. “O rather, what I should say is, what you two _have_ is beautifully profound. He’s an incredibly lucky man – I hope he knows it.”

“He does”, Anne chuckled softly, looking up into inscrutably dark eyes. She cleared her throat, stepping backward as she chose a book; or document, rather, as they had wandered unconsciously toward the nonfiction files – ‘The Indian Act of 1876’ – and began walking toward the set of chairs. “So, I’ve regaled a few of my own anecdotes; please, tell me some of yours. Are you Island-born, or perhaps of the mainland? Are you also attending classes at Queen’s? What is your vocation of choice? Is it what you’d dreamed of doing as a child?”

He let out shaky breath of a laugh as he followed, flicking out the back of his elegant midnight jacket as he took a seat. “Well… for starters… I do attend Queen’s, and am currently in my second year of studies. I had to defer enrolment for a couple of years as my mother was gravely ill with measles.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that”, Anne said, reaching the hand unoccupied by a book to cover his own. “Is she alright?”

He smiled softly. “Thank you for your concern, but yes, she managed a full recovery. She’s the rock of our familial foundation, and I don’t know if my father could’ve bared the heartbreak had we lost her. We thank God every day for allowing her lively spirit more time on our plain of existence.”

Anne’s lashes fluttered at the scope of his poetic language; yet, she stayed silent, allowing him to continue. “My sisters and I had nurses for most of our childhood, but our mother always insisted on reading bedtime stories to us. She had such an effervescent way of expressing the tales of the greatest artists of all time – I always loved her retelling of Hamlet…” he trailed off, smiling wistfully as though lost in a heartfelt memory. “She was actually the one who inspired me into pursuing poetry, and my greatest aspiration is to have my name featured beside the likes of Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson, and William Shakespeare, of course. From the moment I left Kingsport, that became my greatest ambition.”

“Kingsport…” Anne looked down in thought, before suddenly, clarity sprung upon her. “You’re from Nova Scotia!”

“Yes.”

“Incredible. I’m from Nova Scotia, also!”

His eyes widened, and he turned fully to her in surprise. “You don’t say. What town do you hail from?”

“Well,” she said, looking down as she smiled, “actually, I was originally from Scotland, but when my parents died after we sailed across the Atlantic, my only option, at the ripe age of three months, was to live in an orphanage there. I was adopted by the two loveliest siblings I’ve ever met when I was thirteen, and have called Avonlea home ever since.”

“My… that’s… I’m–”

“ _Anne!_ For goodness sake, you silly girl, where are- oh”, came the sudden voice of Priscilla, who stood, swaying, at the entrance of the library, face incredibly flushed as she stared them down. With the hand free of a wine glass, she gestured between the two of them. “So, you two ‘ave met. Well, _fan-bloody-tastic_ , that’s _one_ less job for me to do tonight. Roy: you managed to find Anne, you _devil_. This girl righ’ here? The most magical creature you’ll ever meet. I swear, _she’s a woodnymph._ ”

Anne’s hand came shooting back to her own body, and she chuckled, fingers gripping the book tightly as she stood. “Pris, are you alright there?”

“ _Honey_ ”, she drawled out, a slight slur to her words as she tipped precariously, “I am the _epitome_ of alrigh’. Four glasses of red, three shots of whiskey and… you know, I don’ care to know ‘ow much moonshine I drank straigh’ from the bottle. But this girl is still _going strong into the witching hours of the night!_ I came here to do somethin’… Oh yes! The res’ of your friends are lookin’ to go and _you_ , Miss Trouble, are holdin’ them up! _Shameful._ ”

Her eyes shot to the clock upon the wall and she immediately gasped. “Oh, my gosh! It’s eight-twenty – I told Diana I’d meet her five minutes ago!”

Scrambling toward the door, she got to Priscilla and held up the book within her arms. “Pris, I’m not trying to take advantage of your state right now, but would you mind terribly if I borrowed this book? It’s research for the pursuit of justice.”

Cooing, the blond before her clumsily tapped her cheek. “You beautiful bein’, of course! _Anything_ for the pursuing of… just… whatever it was.”

“Thank you, thank you so much”, Anne sighed, grabbing the hand from her face to squeeze it gently. “Do me favour?”

“ _Anything_ , darlin’.”

“ _Drink some water_. You know, the unfermented liquid that makes up a sizeable portion of our own bodies? And get some food into your system.”

Priscilla then pouted, bottom lip jutting out comically. “ _Anne_ , I _can’t_ eat. I have no hope of gettin’ _anything_ in with this corset on. It’s too tight.”

“Just… try, at the very least, okay? You’ll feel better tomorrow”, she said. Then, turning to the man who still stood still within the room, she smiled awkwardly. “Roy, I am terribly sorry to cut our conversation short, but I really must be off. Lord only knows what heinous state my housemates are in, and I’ll be the one to mother them.”

He offered a lopsided smile, bowing his head. “Completely understandable. Good luck to you then, and Godspeed. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Anne, and I do hope our paths cross again.”

“Likewise,” she said, dipping her head back, “and I’m sure they will.”

* * *

The next morning, as songbirds announced their daily rounds, Anne woke back in Blackmore House with a slight throb of her head. Groaning, she lifted a hand to her temple, laying it across in an effort to shield from the unusually blinding sun. She’d forgotten to shut the blinds after the soirée, she realised with a grumble. Then, the other realisation of what day it was hit her, and she slunk all the way under the covers.

“Sunday… which means church… which means getting out of bed before eight a.m.… _Why_?”

At her words, an echoing groan came across the room from Diana’s bed. “Don’t remind me… perhaps we could skip it? Just this once?”

Anne snorted, shakily sitting up in her bed to look over at her bosom friend. Another bark of laughter escaped her as she witnessed the disarray of her normally pristine hair, and the way in which her nightgown sat skewed upon her shoulders. “The Lord might spontaneously smite us for it, Diana.”

“Speaking truthfully, the sweet release of death may be better than this… _awful_ state of existence.”

She openly laughed at that, shucking the duvet off her body and, with trembling limbs, made her way over to Diana’s bed. The floor was chilling to her bare feet, and she moved with purpose, whimpering all the way. The raven-haired girl gave her one look before shuffling over, allowing room for Anne to slot herself in. Sighing in relief, she turned on her side, gazing at her impossibly tired friend with half-hearted amusement.

“We may feel better after a coffee or two.”

“Perhaps some eggs?”

“Or bacon”, Anne breathed out dreamily, eyes closing as she hummed in contentment. “Good God; if we’re in this state, one can only imagine how drained and deflated the others are.”

“Oh, especially Tillie.”

Opening them once more, she was met with Diana’s lazy gaze, and the two young women immediately chuckled. The spout of energy was short-lived, however, and they soon dissolved back into comfortable silence, sinking into the pillowy mattress.

After a minute or two, a thought sprung in Anne’s mind, and a playful smirk danced across her lips. “So… how was your night? Could you say you had a… _Wright_ time?”

“That’s it – you’ve overstayed your welcome”, Diana replied, shoving the redhead futilely as she chortled loudly. Giving in with a sigh, she settled once more, arms crossing her chest as she bit her lip. “Honestly? I _did_ have a right good time… Fred’s an absolute darling human being. He’s had a proper upbringing – I can tell – but he also has the incredibly good heart. We made charming conversation all night. He’s very easy to talk to… and also, not a bad dancer.”

“But he could _never_ hold a candle to me, could he?” Anne said dramatically.

Diana smiled slyly at her. “Oh, he wishes.”

Anne chuckled in reply. “But in all seriousness… will you see him again?”

She watched as her friend’s bottom lip got caught between her teeth, waiting in anticipation while she paused for effect. The grin broke with a chuckle. “Yes. Turns out we share a class together, and he’s also promised me he’ll visit the parlour next Saturday.”

“Diana, oh, I’m so happy for you!” She wrapped arms around her best friend’s figure and squeezed tightly. “That’s the most riveting news. You must be so happy.”

“I am”, she grinned earnestly back, “and much of that is thanks to your initiative. So thank you, my dearest Anne.”

“Only the world and all of its glory for you, my darling Diana”, she replied, hugging her friend tenderly.

The two laid together, quietly drifting off into a light slumber under the glistening September sun until a groan and resounding screech sounded from further down the hallway, promptly followed by Jane letting out an impressive string of curses. Sighing, they disentangled from one another, and slowly, with great effort, left the warmth of the bed and began the march toward the door.

“Dibs not looking after Tillie”, Anne exclaimed suddenly, looking upon Diana’s distressed face with great mirth as she reached for the doorknob.

“Really? Oh, come now; that’s just _cruel,_ Anne”, she whimpered, doe eyes looking up pleadingly. “You know how bad she is the morning after!”

“Hey! I had to escort the _lot_ of you, plus Cole, home last night. Thank the stars for Moody; he was the only other person able to walk a straight line, and I doubt I’d have been able to bring you all home safely without his unwavering assistance. That was a whole new type of horrendously messy. You can handle her; I’ll take the other three.”

“Oh, of course: giving yourself the easier of the two.”

The banter continued down the hallway, and as the two crusaded into Tillie and Jane’s room, they shared a look. This was what they did: they fell and rose with the highs and lows, but they did it together in absolute solidarity. They were kindred spirits, bosom friends, and nothing and no one could shatter their unshakeable connection. Anne often couldn’t believe her luck at finding such an incredible person as Diana Barry, let alone also Ruby, Jane, Josie, nor Tillie. Then, of course, her uncanny luck and faith in the universe for bringing Gilbert Blythe to her. Her chest swelled, and she smiled. The word ‘Toronto’ flashed across her mind, and the giddy joy wavered on her face. Roy was correct: long distance _was_ an incredible challenge, and there were little things in Anne’s every day that inescapably reminded her of his soft, romantic hazel eyes, his splendid chin, his gorgeously dark ruffled curls, and, most painstakingly, his incredible heart. She’d count the day until she next saw all of it in person.

Tillie began to whimper sorrowfully, and Anne was drawn back to rubbing circles on the girl’s back. She missed her Gilbert terribly, and wanted nothing more than to be in his embrace once more. But until that day came, she had too many things to do. She was to send off her letter to The Globe today, as well as study and begin on some of her research papers. Least of all to forget were the incredible connections she had here, for while her heart ached, she wasn’t alone. She loved each of these girls with every fibre of her being, and would go to the ends of the Earth for them, as she was certain they’d do for her. Likewise, she knew Cole was always prepared with open arms and shoulder to cry on, should she need it. And of course, there were the excitable new relations she was making. Priscilla presented in the form of a vivacious, independent woman whose friendship she valued greatly. Then, there was Roy Gardner; a dark, intriguing enigma of sorts, and a fairly unexplored companionship, but Anne dared to hope she’d found yet another kindred spirit.

With a short breath out of amusement, she remembered how she’d once thought kindred spirits were as scarce as four-leaf clovers. How incredibly wrong she’d been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Alstroemeria: the flower of Friendship and Devotion_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *user: bravebatgirl highlights the 'anne and diana are borderline gay for each other' tag like 17 times*
> 
> yall im SO EXCITED TO GO SEE LITTLE WOMEN AHH. it comes out in australia on new years day and ya can bet imma be at the cinema on the struck of midnight. you may notice the little clues in which i pay homage to the film/book in this chapter  
> also hellooooo mr gardner *wiggles eyebrows* - for reference yall, im using timothee chalamet, so picture him whenever handsome boi comes along hehe. 
> 
> so... somehow this chapter was MORE of a monster than the last. as always, i love the comments, the reviews, the kudos, and everything in between, and they inspire me to continue this story just as enthusiastically as i started it <3
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: Social Justice Warrior Anne™ comes back full-swing to fight the bigots, racists and homophobes, roy drinks respect women juice and is smitten af, and wtf is gilbert up to? wheres our boy at and hows he doin?


	4. Gladioli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert is working himself to the bone in Toronto, his only solace in dreaming of his found family and a fiery young woman. Anne is dealing with trying souls as she fights ignorance and negligence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my country's on fire,  
> the aus pm decided it was a good time to vacay to hawaii,  
> and the us president may have just started ww3  
> ... happy roaring twenties, i guess.
> 
> this chapter definitely became a source of venting for me and my frustration at what's happening rn. not sure how the rest of you are doing, but hopefully this gives you some sort of consolation for the massive clusterf*ck that 2020 is turning into.

Gilbert’s entire body felt like lead as he trudged along the lamp-lit cobblestone street. He grunted, wincing as he felt each individual vertebra of his spine ache from having being bent over textbooks since dawn. The city streets were fairly quiet for a Tuesday evening, and only a handful of lost souls meandered down the sidewalks. His college house was a small lot in an apartment block about a hundred feet or so from where he was lackadaisically moving around the fool-hardy drunkards as they stumbled through the doors of a public house. There were passing jeers – as always – yet he surged forward without so much as a sparing glance. The less attention he paid, the sooner he could get back to the subpar comfort of his bed.

It had been four weeks since he’d arrived in the fast-moving city of Toronto. Four weeks away from the kind eyes of Miss Stacey. Four weeks without the comfort of his father’s home. Four weeks where he hadn’t heard Dellie’s cooing, Hazel’s sharp tongue nor Bash’s well-meant teasing. Four _impossibly_ long weeks since he’d experienced the most heavenly of blessings, bestowed upon him by the most ethereal angel in existence. And Lord on high, how he missed all of it with his entire being.

He smiled wryly to himself, glancing down at shadowy, uneven path beneath his black boots. Fate really was a cruel mistress to bring two souls together so profoundly, only to put over a thousand miles distance between them (Gilbert believed it was just over one-thousand-and-fifty to be exact, from what he’d been told from his queries). After having skirted around each other for three years, he had dared to hope that they’d be allowed more time to bask in the glory of their newfound relationship. Yet, time waited for no man, nor woman, and certainly not for two who’d been so frivolous in making known their intentions. With a quiet snort, he thought how the Father, _his_ father, and Mary were probably all shaking their heads down at him from heaven, agreeing that it was his own previous lack of sincerity that led to his current suffering.

There was a bittersweetness to his suffering, he realised, as he turned the key in the door of the building. For all he had to do was picture his beloved, fiery-tempered, impassioned Anne, and his forlorn heart found a promising peace. While he didn’t possess half of her imagination, his dreams each night were all glimpses of everything he hoped for the future: surprising her on the doorsteps of her boarding house as she flung her arms around his neck, surreptitious rendezvouses in the dead of night where they explored the secrets of their island, little spelling challenges as they lazed about under the summer sun. And further into his future, his psyche dared to dream deeper of rings, eternal promises, late nights of intellectual and physical passion, and the room-filling laughter of smaller beings. He blushed at the self-made implications, and breathed deeply as he stepped into his own apartment. Reality hit like a tonne of bricks.

“Home, sweet home”, he thought aloud with a raised eyebrow, stepping over the threshold and shutting the creaky door behind him. He heaved a sigh, dropping his case as he walked toward his bed, collapsing face-first onto the stiff mattress with a groan.

Immediately, the musty stench filled his senses, and he sat up with a spluttering cough. He glared down at the tattered sheets, face pinching in disgust. He’d been lucky to snag this flat at all, he thought with a grimace, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, but it was utterly preposterous that he’d given up Hazel’s spectacular cooking, his orchard’s delightful aroma and his own room’s familiar feel for this waste yard.

“It’s for your dream, it’s for medicine”, he reminded himself as he pinched his brow. “Doctor Oak is your inspiration, your goal, and to achieve that, you have to work at least half as hard as she has. After all this is over, you will come out of it a fully-licensed doctor and can return home, where you and Anne can pursue your respective careers side by side; and by the spirit of Mary, it _will_ be worth it. You will cope with it, Gilbert Blythe.”

That didn’t make it any less of a tumultuous experience, and he knew that all to well as he laid back against the bedrest with a sigh. His head pounded from the onslaught of information that he fought to process logically, and his body ached from his early-morning labour at the local bakery. The rent, while not too severe, was still substantial enough that he’d needed to ensure he had a sustainable income whilst he studied afar. Thankfully, he hadn’t had to search for too long when he stumbled across the quaint little shop, where the busty woman behind the counter had fixed him with a calculating look before saying ‘You’re a slight one, but you’re broad-shouldered. The broader the shoulders, the more flour they can lift. And calloused hands – a hard worker… Get on out back, boy’.

It was taxing work, but it felt good to start his day with a light sweat before moving to sit at a desk for ten hours, only to come ‘home’ to collapse on his bed. That was his weekly routine; weekends supplied a bit more originality at times, as it would be a full day’s work at the bakery, with Saturday night allowing him a drink or two at the public house – should he feel so inclined. There were a few classmates who he’d found to be enjoyable company, though the majority of them had a crass, dark sort of humour he didn’t care for. And so, most of his time was spent by his lonesome. Positively capital.

“Aye, Blythe mate, you in here?”

He sighed. _Subjectively_ lonesome.

“Yeah”, he said with a groan as he sat up, “just got back. How was your day?”

There was an audible flop and squeak of bed springs, and Gilbert snorted as he glanced over to see his companion in a similar placing to how he had found himself upon arriving back. “I dunno if I can do a whole semester of this political science course, let alone an entire two years. The professor is a right dud and frankly, I reckon I learn more from observing actual society than in his classroom. But, you know… you gotta do what you gotta do to appease the old bloke.”

Truth be told, Gilbert _didn’t_ know, as he’d become an orphan before his father had had the chance to tell him how to make him proud. Instead of revealing this, however, he just hummed noncommittally.

Richard Nelson: a boisterous nineteen-year-old Australian immigrant, and his flatmate. He’d travelled, with his family of a mother, father, and younger brother, trans-Pacific to Canada back in 1894. His father was the successful and wealthy owner of a tobacco manufacturing company in Sydney, and incredibly wise with his money. They’d made the decision to seek a new home whilst the country was still flourishing in an economic mining boom, as Richard Senior had predicted a depression would be sure to follow once the gold dried up. Surely enough, they’d escaped the worst of it, and sought new prosperity in the founded country of Canada, settling in Ontario.

On one of the first days they’d begun their shared arrangement, Richard, or Dick, as he’d instructed Gilbert to call him, had raved on about how his father had promised he’d fund his college degree, but his son would have to learn the value of a dollar and supply his own accommodation. He’d complained profusely about how he’d been wronged and betrayed, and Gilbert had had to stifle a laugh.

The fellow reminded him of a less-severe, more considerate Billy Andrews. The fair-skinned, sandy-blond young man was fit, yes, but a little bit rounder on the edges than Gilbert – typical of a man belonging to high-society. He claimed to have once been almost brown under the strong Australian sun, playing a sport called cricket in his youth. The contrast of circumstances of Gilbert had found his complexion to become tan, and the irony of it was not lost on him. Though, they were both passionate individuals, and complemented each other well: Gilbert was a steadfast reminder of the importance in studying whereas Richard was there to bring a little boyish humour back into the dreary, damp apartment.

“Any word from your family, Dick?” the homegrown Canadian boy asked politely, reaching down to remove his boots.

“Mum wrote the other day. She’s a bit despondent that her little boy is growing up, and makes it known to me in every single letter – I just remind her she’s still got Benjamin to get through grade school. Then there’s Benji – little legend, he’s giving his headmaster _plenty_ of strife. Coped a couple of straps across the wrist, from what I deciphered in his letters. Evidently, that didn’t bode too well with Pop, and I’m sure he got a good belting for it. But… he’s making good progress; he’s excellent with his arithmetic, history, and he’s got a knack for charming fellows. So, he’s well on track to take over the family business, luckily for me. And Pop… he doesn’t write much. When he does, it’s always reminders, and reprimands, and stern warnings of non-optional failure. I think he’s starting to miss home. Or maybe just the heat”, he said with a half-hearted chuckle.

“I can understand that”, Gilbert said empathetically, remembering the warm glow of the Caribbean sun with a wistful fondness.

“Yeah…” Richard muttered as he unbuttoned his heavy jacket. “I think the lot of ‘em want to go home, eventually. Or that’s the goal, at least, once the economy stabilises.”

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

Gilbert smiled. “What do you plan to do? Is returning to Australia _your_ goal?”

The blond boy pursed his lips, looking down. “I dunno… To be honest with you, mate… I like it here. I mean… Australia’s a literal hot mess right now. The pollies are all fighting England about independence and possible federation right now, and I think returning to a country that’s like an unweaned foal learning how to gallop would just be… disastrous. There’s opportunity there for people like me, but there’s a huge risk factor, and I don’t know if that’s something I’m willin’ to take. I’ll build a name for myself here, learn the logistics of a capitalist democracy and then… see where the wind takes me.”

“I believe that’s quite a wise decision on your part”, Gilbert nodded.

Richard flashed him a toothy grin. “Cheers… Oh, I forgot my manners. What of you? Received any letters from home?”

“Yes, actually”, he replied, letting out a soft chuckle as he glanced toward their shared beside table. “My brother continues to manage our apple orchard as a temporary sole business owner, but we’re fortunate to have some friends who happily include them as exports to England. My niece…” he paused with a smile, “she’s started becoming quite agile, even at a crawl, and Bash relayed to me how he can turn his back for one second and she’ll be off like a greyhound. Thank God he’s made a friend of my dear teacher: Muriel Stacey. I believe the combined support of her and his mother are his only respite from Dellie’s uncontainable energy… She’s the light of my life. I adore her far too much.”

“Sounds like a charming little angel”, the Australian said.

“She is”, he agreed with a nod, “For me, at least. I think, like your brother, she may cause Bash some headaches as she ages, however.”

“Bless the little tyke”, Richard said softly, before a mischievous glint crossed his blue eyes and he looked to Gilbert wildly. “Hold on – I distinctly recall you saying you’ve got a sheila as well. The fire-haired, pretty bird of a missus waiting for you back home, all lovesick and lost without her darlin’?”

Picking up on the Australian slang that he was beginning to become acquainted with, Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Yes, I received her newest letter two days ago, and I’ve read it uncountable times since. She’s waiting for me just as much as I’m waiting for her. And if anyone is lost without someone, it’s _me_ without _her_. Anne’s just incredible, and so powerful and brave… she’s not swayed or deterred in any way by the naysayers or close-minded people, and never afraid to speak her mind. Just being with her, reading her words… I get a taste of her amazing world. I just… it boggles my mind that she chose me.”

“Aw… _mate_ ”, he exclaimed, bolting upright with the most gleeful expression on his face. “You’re _so_ dead nuts on her. Shakespeare could only _hope_ to capture a fraction of your affection for her in his works. You must write her the most extravagant love letters.”

He laughed, sighing as he placed his hands behind him and leaned back. “I certainly try, but she’s the one with the talent for taming language. It’s incredible how she commands it; in her last letter, she told me her of her plans to make a public stance against the residential schools on Prince Edward Island, and I offered my two cents on constructing an informative letter to The Globe. I’m not sure if she’ll receive it on time, but they’re not going to be able to stop her either way. She’s stubborn like that”, he added as a fond afterthought.

Richard frowned, humming as he nodded. “Yeah… I’ve heard about those; there’s a couple in Saskatchewan and Calgary that I know of specifically. One of my good schoolmates lives right by one, and he heard some right horrid things coming from them. I think the morals behind the idea are well-meaning, you know: including the Indians in our modern, civilised society, but there’s gotta be a better way about that doesn’t have the children suffering.”

“They’re _plenty_ civilised”, Gilbert said, expression hardening, “and I’d go as far as arguing that they are even _more_ modern and advanced than our society in some aspects.”

The blond boy let out a bark of laughter, looking at the dark-haired one in disbelieving humour. “Sure, they are. With their quant little tepees, their basic agriculture and farming, their complete lack of economy and non-existent political system. Yes, how _very_ advanced of them.”

Gilbert rose to a stand, towering over his flatmate as a redhead-inspired fire took over him. “The Mi’kmaq people live near my hometown and one of their men, Aluk, is singlehandedly the most talented craftsmen I’ve ever met. He makes the most pristine hockey sticks for the boys when we used to play, and he was always so incredibly polite, even when supremacist-minded fools spoke to him like he nothing more than _dirt_ under their feet. His mother is their medicine woman, and from what I’ve seen firsthand, she could teach us _white people_ a thing or two about modern medicine that doesn’t just involve bleeding a person until they recover or die. They utilise what nature has bestowed upon them, and use gracefully and intelligently – they _preserve_ the land rather than take what they want without any regard for the consequences.”

Richard was visibly shrinking back, looking up with wide eyes, but Gilbert had been let out of the start box and wasn’t going to stop until he crossed the finish line. “His daughter, Ka’kwet, is a dear friend to Anne; a kindred spirit; and although they come from two completely different walks of life, they are more like sisters than some people I know who actually share blood. She is every bit intelligent, inquisitive, open-minded and kind-hearted that my Anne is; and do you know where she is right this very second? Locked away, against her will, in a so-called ‘school’ that is trying to strip her of her identity, culture, her _very name_ , all while her parents are waiting guard outside, passively assertive in trying to get their daughter back. These ‘uncivilised’ people, these ‘ _barbarians_ ’ show more compassion, empathy and understanding for all life than I see from most people my own skin tone.”

As he thundered over the line with those final articulated words, he stood over Richard and finally took a breath, chest heaving from the outburst. Breathing through his nose, he straightened up, took a step back but did not back down, continually fixing the dumbstruck young man with a critical eye.

The man in question swallowed thickly, blinking profusely as he breathed, “Well, strewth.”

As Gilbert’s shoulders finally lost some of their tension, his flatmate continued. “I… I had no idea. I was always told… a-and I just assumed--”

“And that is _precisely_ the problem”, Gilbert enunciated, sitting back down on his bed, his hands clasped between his legs as his elbows rested on his thighs. “Our culture is founded on making baseless assumptions on fictious tales, and people make up their minds about something or someone before they have the chance to have an individual, intellectual thought. They are far too afraid of something being different to them, and all they do is try to weed it out before they actually get to know it for what it _could_ be. And this is exactly why Anne is saying what she’s saying, and why she fighting so fervently for these people.”

Richard smiled gently, almost placatingly, and mirrored Gilbert’s position. “That’s really good of your Anne. If your claim about having half her talent for words is true, I’m sure she’ll easily rally a mass. I can see why you admire her so.”

Finally coming down from his Anne-like outburst – Lord, she was really rubbing off on him, wasn’t she? – he allowed a breathy, lopsided grin onto his face. “She is truly one of a kind.”

“I can imagine…” he nodded, before blowing through his lips and leaning forward to pat Gilbert on his shoulder. “Bloody hell, I do _not_ envy your position of long-distance courting. Godspeed to you, I say, mate. With what you’ve told me of her looks, her charm, and this pretty revelation, she’s got to be turning some serious eyes in Charlottetown. That’s gotta be stressful.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows shot up, and he pouted in confusion. “How do you mean?”

“You’re tossing me, right?” Richard said as he leaned back. “Attractive little dame with an impressive head on her shoulders and a heart of gold; who, on top of that, is seemingly available to potential suitors? Sure, there are some idiots in society who’d rather a mindless dove, but unless she’s walkin’ around college on your arm, she’s considered free game.”

“I…” he uttered, resting his chin in his hands. Of _course_ he knew Anne was attractive in every which way possible – he was hopelessly in love with her, after all – but for some unknown reason, he’d never considered how other men viewed her. It had never even crossed his mind, when the only other possible suitors to worry about back in Avonlea were Charlie, who Anne found somewhat deplorable after some spiteful comments, Jerry, who was as much a brother to Anne as Diana was her friend, and Billy, who he knew Anne to gladly take up the opportunity to hit him over the head.

He looked up at Richard with disbelieving eyes. “Anne _loves_ me, though. S-She told me so. And in our correspondence so far, her affection hasn’t wavered and-and there’s no mention of any attempts to take my place as her suitor. She’s… she’s loyal, and respectful, and most importantly, she has her own mind, and would never allow herself to be pushed nor derided by some passing gentleman. That’s not like her. I have faith in her, _complete trust_ , and I know that we can make this courtship work, no matter the distance.”

“Oh, you poor sod”, Richard tutted, shaking his head as he came to seat himself by Gilbert as he went through his internal crisis. “Listen… she could be the most loyal, loving gem of woman on this Earth, and if she feels that she’s not getting the most of a situation, and another, more attractive, more charismatic, more _present_ situation comes by with a bouquet in hand and magical words on his tongue, then not even the sweetest of letters will hold her back. I’m sorry to alarm you, but it had to be said. It happens to the best of us. Let me tell my sad, sorry tale of woe, regarding the beautiful brunette of my teen years – Miss Abigail Nicholson.”

As the man beside him raved on, Gilbert completely zoned him out, instead internalising his pressing concerns. Anne _did_ love him – Diana had told him fiercely so on the train, Bash had alluded to it for years, and the darling vision of his dreams had confessed as such in her first letter to him. He had only dreamed of a forever with his fiery classmate, but ever since that fateful day a month ago, he dared to hope that his dreams could become a reality. His remarks to Richard were true; Anne was loyal, respectful, kind in every way, and she had chosen him to the object of her affection, just as he had chosen her, by some miraculous divine intervention. But he’d always known, very clearly, that he was undeserving of Anne.

While she was very human and did have her fair share of mistakes, she was in no way a match to him. She was going to become an amazing teacher, and he could easily see her opening her own school one day; where boys and girls, black and white and everything in between would be taught with a fair, guiding hand. She was going to work her way up in the world, promoting equality for all with her inspiring words, and she’d transform lives. She was going to change the world, and he… he was going to be a country doctor. He swallowed thickly.

But he was being paranoid, surely. Anne had never been anything but honest with him, even when it was a bumbling incoherent outburst of slung-together drunken thoughts. And he _did_ have faith in her, in them, that what they had was immortal and transcended the confides of time and place. She had revealed her heart as purely to him as he to her, and he believed that notion that maybe this was forever. But as he reengaged in Richard’s dramatic storytelling with a teasing demeanour, the seed of doubt was planted within his mind.

* * *

Anne marched toward the college library with purpose in her stride and steel in her eyes. Many students were gathering for lunch about upon the communal grass, couples lounging about on tartan picnic blankets, and they passed by in a blur as Anne continued her merciless crusade, books clenched tight in hand. She was a soldier on her way to the frontline, and any who came her way and failed to pay attention had to quite literally leap out of her way at the last second. When Anne Shirley-Cuthbert set her mind about something, there was not a force in the natural nor mythical world that could stop her.

Bursting through the grand cedar-wood doors, she ignored the obnoxiously loud hushing of the librarian as she strode past the scarcely occupied tables toward the non-fiction aisles. A few judgemental eyebrows were raised in her direction as she muttered to herself, rifling through the plethora of records, encyclopedias and manifestos. She began to build up a pile in her other arm, one that started with the ‘Indian Act of 1876’ file she’d borrowed from Priscilla on the weekend. She was so diligently focused on her task at hand that she failed to notice the sudden appearance of a body beside her, eyes trained ahead until the clearing of a throat brought them around.

“Oh. Roy. Afternoon.” She spared him smile before turning back.

“Good afternoon, Anne”, his melodic voice rumbled beside her. “I just saw you practically hooning into the library, and thought I’d ask if you would care to join me for lunch? There’s a quaint little café on campus that I frequent; it has the most delightful French pastries. My treat.”

Without shifting her focus, Anne replied, “Oh, thank you, Roy; that’s very amicable of you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’m far too busy to allow for a sit-down lunch today, and I’ve only got, oh, I’d say about another fifteen minutes before class resumes.”

There was a pause, and a shuffling of Oxford shoes against the floorboards. “I… see. And what is it that has you so preoccupied?”

“I am on a _mission_ ,” she said with urgency, “a deep-rooted juridical conquest for the whole of ethics and human morality. There is a great injustice being perpetrated by some _truly_ insidious beings here in Canada, and I am preparing myself to take a stance against their horrid actions. However, like any good warrior, I mustn’t parade unfearingly into battle without a weapon. And while I wouldn’t shy away from a bout of fisticuffs, I am a _firm_ believer that the pen is mightier than the sword; and that knowledge is power, and a tool to be used against the oppressor of equality. So, I am training in the art of words and preparing all the necessary speeches for facing future foes by reading as many books as I can get my hands on and – ugh! These _blasted_ sleeves of restraint – can’t move an inch. Sorry, would you mind reaching up to the top shelf for that book on the left?”

“O-Of course. This one?”

“Uh, no. Two over… Yes! That one; thank you ever so much”, she beamed at him as he collected the book and peered at its cover with interest.

His lips pursed as he flipped it over in his hand, tousled black hair flopping as he tiled his head. “‘Dealing with the Local Natives: A Guide to Coping with the Indian Problem’”, he trailed off, eyes glancing up at the righteous redhead before him. “Would you mind… indulging me as to what your grand crusade is about? In detail? I find myself rather curious with the content material you appear to be choosing.”

“Gladly”, she said with an earnest nod, and began to walk to the librarian’s counter. “I’m not sure how familiar you are of the current treatment of Canada’s indigenous, but I am saddened to say I am utterly horrified in the cruelty we’ve displayed. Earlier this year, I made a delightful new and dear friend in a Mi’kmaq girl by the name of Ka’kwet – a name of true nobility. Her tribe lived on the outskirts of Avonlea, in amongst the forests and rivers and _all_ of Mother Nature in her glory. I must confess I’m terribly envious of their tasteful way of life. Anyways, an opportunity arose in which Ka’kwet could venture to Halifax – the very place I spent the most unfortunate years of my youth – and attend a school just beyond the town.”

“It was a government-led initiative to offer the indigenous children the chance to expand on their knowledge. Hearing this surface knowledge, I, of course, reverently _implored_ my darling friend to take up this seemingly incredible opportunity…” she paused in her step, shaking her head as the floor suddenly seemed the only place fit for her vision. “I kick myself every day for having been so frivolous and mindless in my fool-led naivety. These… _schools_ , if that is even a word one could use to describe such places, are as restrictive and uncaring as a prison. The students are treated more like-like _inmates_ – no, actually, because that would imply that they’re human.”

Emotion clutched at her throat and she swallowed it thickly, down all the way into her gut. “Ka’kwet, she… she ran away, came back to her home, but then… _they_ came for her. They _shot_ her father, took the other children and locked them back up at that despicable, immoral jailhouse. The teachers, the nuns there, the supposed _charioteers_ of the Lord, strip them of their wonderful and unique names in favour of a bland Christian one, cut their hair, separate them from their families indefinitely – even their siblings who attend the same school as them! And if it wasn’t bad enough that this was happening in the Maritimes, through my initial research, I have come to learn that this is happening all over Canada! Hundreds of children being forced away from their families, diminished in the eyes of strangers to nothing more than pieces of an assimilation puzzle. I… I cannot and _will_ not stand by while they suffer.”

Finally drawing a breath, she turned around to see Roy standing behind her, a glazed sort of look in his eye as he gazed down with a secret smile. What the secret was, well… Anne wasn’t entirely sure how beneficial it would be if revealed.

Clearing her throat and passing the bundle of books to the poor, unsuspecting librarian with a sheepish smile, she tilted her chin up at her companion. “So, you see, Roy; my mission requires my absolute, unwavering and undivided attention, for a great deal is at stake here and there is _much_ to accomplished.”

His jaw clenched as he slowly nodded, brow line furrowing as he stared down at the books. “That I can”, he breathed softly, his upper lip twitching ever so slightly. “You’re incredibly admirable, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Admirable in every essence of the word.”

“I…”, she croaked out in response, mouth suddenly dry. Recovering herself, she squared her shoulders and smiled politely. “Thank you for your kind words, Mr Gardner, but really – I’m just a woman trying to do the right thing.”

He hummed, seemingly the end of conversation, then begun gathering her books in his arms, despite her vehement protests. She smiled again as he smoothly stepped in front of her to open the large doors, bowing ever so slightly as he gestured her forward. And then, they walked, in a stilted sort of silence along the little avenue through the courtyard – the perfect picture of a young poetic pair. It wasn’t until Anne had begun to form delightful little imaginations in the fluffy wisps of cloud above when Roy spoke up once more.

“I… I was wondering, Anne, if you weren’t to mind,” he asked, hands behind his back, “if I may assist you in your mission.”

When she raised an eyebrow at him, he continued. “I am more of a reserved poet, but I do believe in the significance of making a virtuous stance, and that the call to do so outweighs anyone’s particular comfort zone. It’s simply a matter of finding that… _muse_ that does inspire one’s soul to action. And you”, he said with a nod in her direction, “You have inspired me most strongly. It would be the greatest privilege to offer my intellectual services to you in your quest for justice.”

The way he articulated ‘muse’ sent a rather odd trill of sensation down her spine, and she recalled Cole’s words from Saturday with a blush. Glancing up into his face through the shadow of his straw boater, she considered him with a soft perk of her lip.

“That’s very charitable, Roy – thank you. I’d be very grateful for your assistance”, she answered softly as they shared a small smile. Suddenly, the toll of the town bell spurred her into action, and her mouth impermissibly let out an unladylike curse. The slightly affronted look on Roy’s face was not lost on her, and she blushed as she gathered the books from his arms. “Very sorry to run off like this, but I have biology with Mr Quinston next, and he does _not_ appreciate tardiness.”

“Ah, yes; I’ve heard interesting things about that sir. Not the most… piquant of professors.”

She forced a chuckle, sending a quick grin up at him before she took to running off. She’d barely gone ten feet before she came to a grinding halt, whirling around to face a bemused Roy. “Also, our little project: meet back at the library after classes? We can get started then with the files and documents I’ve procured.”

He blinked slowly, offering a badly-stifled smile as he nodded. “But not before I treat you to tea.”

“Deal.” She grinned toothily back before resuming her mad sprint off to intellectual adventure.

* * *

On her left, a brown-haired boy had his jaw resting on his knuckle, attempting to feign total awareness despite the lidded state of his eyes. To her right, Priscilla Grant, fully rid of the outrageous hangover she’d endured Sunday, sat fully upright as her pen dashed meteorically to scribble notes. Anne herself, was in an internal conflict as she teetered between watching the professor’s lesson intently or mimicking her friend’s writing frenzy. She stared wide-eyed, pen balanced between her fingers, as Mr Quinston drew several diagrams upon the chalkboard.

“Now, Vries is a botanist by vocational choice, but two years ago, he made an incredible scientific discovery on behalf of geneticists. He discovered, through developing on Weismann’s theory of… germ plasm, that every single trait regarding any given organism is inherited through the parents’ individual genes, forming microscopic digits known as… _chromosomes_. Underline that. This discovery corroborates with Darwinian Evolution on how species breed, reproduce and evolve over time, weeding out the weaker ones. Looking back at our _last_ lesson – yes, if you need to, turn a few pages back and remind yourselves of what was learned – Mendelian Inheritance, specifically the Law of Dominance and Uniformity, shows us that in genotype and phenotype that any two particular mating organisms carry two particular chromosomes per trait; these can be either… dominant, or… recessive, or both. When they engage in intercourse – _quiet_ , all of you… seriously, you’re old enough to discuss this – cell creation of the embryo will be default, and choose the most dominant traits.”

Anne rolled her eyes at the giggling room around her, scoffing as Priscilla wiggled her eyebrows flirtatiously.

“Take…” her teacher paused, rubbing off an older section of scribbling to allow for newer material, “for example… your mother is… European, with… fair complexion… blue eyes… blonde hair… small, elegant chin. All those traits are facts, woven into her genetic structure. They define her, make her who she is as a person. Now, in contrast, the father is… a half-caste black man…”

Anne’s brows furrowed.

“Dark skin…”

Her pen froze.

“Dark eyes and dark hair…”

Her eyes flickered forward.

“Flatter, rounder face; more ape-like.”

Her head shot up at the barely-concealed snorts, and her blood began to pulse.

“We pin these two specimens together, and due to other traits, such as intelligence, empathy, comprehension and other unmentioned aspects of physicality, we would see that, more likely than not, you would be created to resemble your mother in looks and mannerisms more closely than your father, as the white genes are proven to be dominant, and superior. This is currently what our government is attempting to rectify with the native problem.”

She very nearly snapped her fountain pen when the boy beside her snickered. Knowing she was about two seconds away from doing something she’d deeply regret, she took a staggered, steadying breath and forced her eye to stop twitching as she raised her hand.

The professor turned a bored eye on her. “Yes, Miss Shirley.”

“It’s Shirley-Cuthbert, sir. Hyphenated”, she replied, chin raised high. From her side, Priscilla’s questioning eyes upon her were palpable. “Excuse my abrasiveness, but I think that’s a rather backwards-thinking and discriminatory thing to say.”

The feeling of more eyes gradually turning toward her became heavier, but Anne remained unshakeable as she stared down her professor. He raised an eyebrow at her, sighing excessively as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Shirley, please refrain from bringing politics into a science class.”

She ignored the snorts of her classmates, gripping the edge of her desk as her knuckles whitened. “With all due respect, Mr Quinston, _you_ were the one to make the highly inappropriate and political comment to begin with.”

“I was merely stating facts, which I have the authority to do as a certified teacher”, he drawled, as if he were explaining the alphabet to a ten-year-old. Removing his glasses to rub them against his vest, he fixed her with a look. “If you wish to debate me on such a topic, I urge you to read some history books, young lady; they are of those who’ve actually done the research. Thomas Jefferson has quite the modicum to amount on the subject.”

“Oh, so we’re taking advice from Americans now?” she retorted, voice beginning to raise as she climbed further from her seat. “Moreover, from _politicians_?”

A girl with ringleted hair and a nasally voice spoke up from a few rows behind her. “Jefferson wasn’t just a politician; he was a _founding father_ ”, she punctuated the last words.

Anne rolled her eyes, turning to face her with an exaggerated smile. “Oh, well, good for him! Yes, another wealthy, powerful white man who uses his sphere of influence to normalise and _popularise_ the degradation of others. Because slavery is something to be _ever_ so revered.”

“They didn’t _know_ differently – it was the norm of the time”, the boy from beside her spoke, looking at her as though she’d suddenly become Cerberus.

“And so that means we should make _excuses_ for that kind of behaviour?” she wheeled on him, towering over the perplexed boy as her blood pressure rose. “Simply because they didn’t know any better? That’s just saying that we can turn a blind-eye to the mistakes of the past simply due to _ignorance_. By that logic, we could say that the European occupation of South America by Columbus and his other _conquistadors_ is perfectly redeemable despite the loss of an _entire_ civilisation and culture through barbaric, disgusting treatment of the native people. Or that we could use the _ongoing_ slave trade of women happening in foreign countries and say: ‘oh, well, it’s the culture; they don’t know any better’. How do you suppose we eventually evolve and refine our morals, exactly? I’ll tell you how. We _recognise_ the mistakes of the past and _learn_ from them.”

She whipped around to her teacher, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “As an educator, it is your role and _duty_ to supply us with the knowledge to create a better world; not to make derogatory remarks that continue to taint the impressionable minds of the future.”

Silence had befallen the entire classroom, all eyes locked onto Anne as her chest heaved, corset entirely too tight around her as she glared down the professor. His lips were brought in a thin line so that his frizzled moustache practically consumed his mouth. After a beat, he heaved a sigh, shaking his head as he placed his glasses back on. “Miss Shirley, excuse yourself from my class, and do not come back until you feel like showing me the respect I deserve.”

“Don’t you worry”, she huffed, already in the process of gathering her things. She gave Priscilla’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as she manoeuvred past, fixing her teacher a pointed look as she swept across the floor. “I was already on my way out.”

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, Anne sat through her classes as a dormant volcano, seething under the surface of her calm exterior. The second her geometry teacher dismissed the class at the end of the day, she was up and out like a greyhound to the track. Whispers of her name and raised eyebrows followed her as she stormed toward the library, bottle green skirt bunched in her fist. So, it appeared word of her impassioned outburst had spread. It was like she was thirteen and talking about petting mice again. A shaky rush of air passed through her lips. Well… maybe at least it would get people thinking about their abysmal attitudes and actions.

Her eyes locked onto the library and she continued on her war path, only looking away to focus on the distracting tendril of hair that had come loose. Grumbling, she blew it off her face and continued forward, lip curling as a passing boy jeered at her.

She burst through the doors, their loud bang being met with the disapproving gasp of the librarian and Anne’s own sparing cringe. Managing an apologetic smile, she walked with slightly more decorum towards a nearby table and dropped into the chair, bringing her satchel onto the tabletop with a soft bang. Anne wasted no time in scouring through the plethora of books, documentations, files and folders she’d amassed, eventually settling on a collection of records regarding indigenous census, statistics of illness and death toll. She shuddered at the thought of the last one.

Laying one of her best notebooks down and fishing out her trusty Pen of Possibility, she began to write. She noted down particular dates and numbers that stood out to her, tapping the end of the pen against her lip as her head worked to draw conclusions and points of argument. Mathematics may not have been her strong suit, but she could still do basic equations and… how her stomach twisted at the answers those equations gave her. Stifling her own reactions at the depth of horror at play, she pushed through, fiddling with the charm bracelet on her wrist for comfort.

A few other people had begun to file into the library’s space, but she barely paid them a glance as she sat at her metaphorical secret bunker, scribbling nonsensically to any brush-over eyes. Anne’s own mind, however, was racing at a million miles per hour, and she felt it was like trying piece an impossibly large puzzle together, connecting dots and lining up two seemingly different facts to arrange a powerful argument. The loose tendril fell once more, and with a groan, she puffed it back up.

Suddenly, boots shuffled beside her, and she looked up, eyes fierce, ready to pounce on anyone who dared say a word against the people she defended. However, upon recognising the face, she took a deep breath and lowered her hackles. “Roy. Brilliant, you’re here.”

“Indeed, I am”, he said with a bemused chuckle, perfectly coiffed hair bouncing as he bowed his head. “Are you ready for the tea and pastries I promised?”

She flashed him a tight-lipped smile. “Unfortunately, as you can see by all… this”, she gestured to the disorderly state of the table, “I simply don’t have the time for tea today. Too much at work in my mind.”

He stepped forward. “Surely you can spare a moment on this beautiful, enchanting autumn afternoon?”

“The indigenous folks my age aren’t at liberty to enjoy this afternoon, so why should I?” she retorted, her short fuse already expended from her impassioned outburst in biology earlier. “I am _much_ too enraged to be able to sit in a room of fortunate people who take what they have for granted with two spoonfuls of sugar.”

He opened his mouth to say something, seemingly thought better of it and nodded. “It would seem so… Are you alright, Anne? You seem a bit…”

“Frazzled? Cumbersome? Lunatic? _Hysterically_ unhinged?”

“I… I was going to say agitated, but I… suppose it would do to supplement one of those”, he said with a slight raise of his brow.

She hummed a nervous laugh in response, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite her as she controlled her fiery temper. The second he hit the chair, Anne’s mouth was running like her mind. “We didn’t have much time this morning to discuss a plan of action, but I’ve recently been… well, I’d say inspired, but the word is too docile… _spearheaded,_ more or less, into an idea by a certain not-so piquant professor of mine.”

“Mr Quinston?”

“The very same”, she smiled wryly, before reaching for her notebook and turning it across to him. “I believe the best way to fight such an injustice is by using a culmination of tools that most appeal to one’s better nature: logical fact and empathetic emotion. I’ve started compiling a list of dates, statistics, population growth and decline, reports of disease outbreak such as scarlet fever, tuberculosis, and typhoid; all in regards to the indigenous community. It’s… disturbing, to say the least, what I’ve concluded to begin with, but I think it’s going to all come together and create a _really_ powerful argument.”

He nodded agreeingly, mouth pursing, eyes widening as his finger traced over certain figures. Glancing back up at Anne, his expression hardened. “These are all very well and good, and could definitely sway opinions, but… it’s as you said: connecting with people’s emotions is paramount in articulating the humanity behind what you’re trying to do.”

“Exactly”, she said as she reached into her satchel and pulled out her bible, making a show of holding it over the table. “Which is where _this_ comes in. I’ve been taking time during my nights to read through it recently… _Not_ to say I _don’t_ read it at other times!” she added hastily, “and I am making certain to write down any particular verses that stand for the righteousness of equality.”

“It sounds like you have quite the foundational premise for a strong, moving argument.” His eyes flickered down to the disarray of papers before back into hers, leaning back with his hands together. “My next consideration: how do you propose _formatting_ said argument?”

Anne’s face screwed up as she sighed rather frustratedly, flopping back against chair. “And _there’s_ the issue. For all my expansive imagination, I can’t seem to decide on an appropriate way to communicate what it is that needs to be said, but might be hard to hear… I think of one solution, and then a multitude of possible disastrous outcomes rolls dangerously in with it. Nothing seems to be truly, undoubtedly right.”

He hummed, bringing a cupped hand up to rub from his jawline to chin. “Have you considered submitting an article to the college magazine? It’s a great way to avoid the elongated process of writing your own work time and time again – I’m assuming you aren’t in possession of a printing press – and it encompasses a wider audience with less hassle on your part.”

“Well”, she trailed off, looking to the side as she felt the undeniable blush of abashment rise on her ears, “I have actually attained experience in that field regarding _another_ issue of consequence. And it did _certainly_ have consequences…”

At his puzzled expression, she continued. “I had a close friend who suffered a great and slanderous injustice, and as a result of my disdain at the lack of empathy and action, I took to writing an article for our school newspaper; though, I suppose it was more of a manifesto of sorts, as I spoke rather tenaciously about the appalling state of women’s rights – or lack thereof, I should say.” Drawing back to the not-so-distant memory, she cringed as she said, “It garnered a rather… affronted reaction from the townspeople, my fellow classmates, _and_ the friend in question herself. And while I don’t regret that I reacted, I am regretful of _how_ I reacted.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider her, as if slightly lost. Then, his eyebrows scrunched together and he shook his head. “It baffles me, in truth. I can’t imagine you would have said anything of offense in your writing, and your heart was entirely filled of good will for your friend. If they reacted the way in which they did to such a soulful, eloquent and evocative piece of your work, then I have to believe it was their own unpoetic souls that led them to such a thing.”

“I… well, thank you for your faith in me, Roy”, she replied with a small smile. After all, what else could she say? He was behaving like the incredibly chivalrous gentleman she was discovering him to be, but there was also a thin layer of stiff politeness that she hadn’t yet gotten past. Either he was just unbelievably civil in all aspects of conversation, or he simply could not fault her in her erroneous ways – for that which she knew had been the case, as she’d found herself reflecting in the weeks after on just how presumptuous her well-intended actions had been. Reflections as of such often led to Anne groaning, pressing the heels of her palms into her eye sockets in rueful mortification.

She couldn’t very well chastise him for being complimentary, so instead, she reached delicately across for her notebook once more and looked at him with polite seriousness. “Nonetheless, I have come to the realisation that some instances call for something more powerful that the written word… Yet, in such instance as _this,_ when I _really_ could use a different solution, I’m none the wiser as to what they could be…”

And so, they bowed their heads in thought, and as Anne let her fingernails tap against the wood of the desk, she scoured into the depths of her mind. A flicker of movement in the window caught her eye, and her vision darted toward it, looking out at the sunlit world of the campus and her greenery. She watched on as single, prophetical sugar maple leaf glided down from its mother, swaying on its featherlight wings down to the ground below. A quiet smile misted over her face.

“Hello, October”, she murmured, eyes shining with wonder.

“Anne.”

Her head shot sideways and posture – which she hadn’t realised had sighed forward – bolted upright as she looked Roy dead on in his questioning eyes. “Yes, I’m here.”

A quiet snort escaped him, and Anne pretended not to notice the way in which he turned it into a cough despite the undeniable upturn of his lips. “I was suggesting an idea in which you might find fortitude. Sorry, I didn’t wish to disturb you. You seemed captivated, or lost in some other, more ideal reality.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry”, she reassured with an open smile, “I was simply admiring our own… The world can so tumultuous, but it’s a reassurance to know that the seasons will always remain as they are, isn’t it? They come and go with the winds of time, and there isn’t a force in nature to stop them, because they _are_ the force of nature. And they are ever so captivating, each in their own individual beauty and purpose. While I adore summer in all her glorious vitality, there is just _something_ about the falling leaves of October that brings me some solace of the mind.”

Roy turned his head to glance outside, sunlight catching in the curve of his jawline as his cheeks appled. “Winter is my favourite”, he spoke softly, “so, I understand your appreciation for autumn. Mother Nature sheds her floral robe in favourite for a wonderfully white, elegant gown. It’s her Sunday; she can rest and recuperate for a moment in time, before commencing the lively cycle once more, and being born anew.”

He was ever so poetic, Anne thought with a sigh as she watched his upturned lips purse. She breathed a small laugh, slight smile gracing her lips as she shook her head, gesturing to the man before her. “Anyway, sorry I side-tracked our conversation. You’d said you might’ve found something…?”

His eyes sparkled as he turned back. “Yes, of course. I was thinking… what if you did indeed write a manifesto of sorts, not dissimilar to what you crafted for you school newspaper. But rather than keeping it in written form, why not instead address it to the masses? You have a riveting, scintillating way of speaking, voice and words, and I don’t have a flicker of doubt that you’d rally a mass in speaking your truth most fervently and ardently. You could do it by the college chapel; it’s rather central and connected to the rest of the campus, so people would definitely hear you. It’d also hold a significance with the morality of your message, as any good Christian could not deny that what you’re saying is against God’s wishes. Furthermore, no teacher nor any board member could silence you, for that would reflect incredibly poorly on their authority and sense of charity… What do you think?”

By the time he’d finished, Anne had already begun writing, and she paused in her jotted down thoughts to glance up at him with a beaming grin. “It’s _brilliant_ , Roy. Truly and wholly brilliant. At the chapel, I mightn’t even have to do it on a school day afternoon. I could do it after Sunday service; that way, the _entire_ school would be present, and the more ears that are privy to what’s going on, the more chance there’d be a change in perspective, further resulting in more action for the good of our own humanity. I… I could get the girls at my boarding house involved… a-and Cole too! And maybe, if I write, I might be able to convince Gilbert to come and be at my right side – he fights for equality near as passionately as I do… yes… yes, this could definitely work.”

Unbeknownst to Anne, as she had looked down once more, his smile had faltered ever so slightly. However, he quickly brought it back with a straightening of his back, leaning down to his own satchel as he pulled out a quill, ink well and notebook of his own. “Well, then”, he smirked quietly, catching Anne’s eyes once more, “I suppose it best we get started on that speech.”

She smirked back. "It's certainly not going to write itself." 

* * *

Gilbert sat at his desk, eyes glued furiously to his textbook as he subconsciously tapped the end of his pen against his bottom lip. Doctor Emily Oak, the robust force of woman, was standing at the front of the classroom, dismissing her students one by one with a curt smile and stern eyes, not needing words to convey the importance that their learning didn’t stop when they left the classroom. Gilbert, however, paid no mind as his vision trailed over every word on the pages before him. It blurred on occasion, and he’d find himself rubbing his eyes clear once more, shaking his head as he forces widened his eyes to refocus once more.

Fairly soon, he was the last remaining occupant of the room, save for his professor, who was now studying him with knowing eyes. Tutting, she strode over to the front of his desk, placing a firm hand down near the edge. Startling, Gilbert shot upright, big, hazel eyes meeting his teacher’s own dark eyes looked at him critically.

“Mr Blythe, as much as I appreciate your unique unrelenting passion for studying, I must insist that you be on your way. I have a meeting with some fellow physicians to get to, and it’s imperative I arrive before they do”, she punctuated, her usual pointed tone being emphasized in her fixed eyes.

He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced downwards. “Sorry, Dr Oak. I find it all too easy to get absorbed in medical books.”

“Hmm, well, let’s hope that once you’re practising medicine, you’re able to remove your nose from the pages to attend to your own patients.”

He shot up to a stand, eyes suddenly panicked. “O-of course, Dr Oak; I-I would _never_ dream of giving a patient less then one hundred percent of my attention.”

She smiled at that, a raspy sort of laugh bubbling in her throat as she took a step back, eyes twinkling beneath her glasses. “I’m simply teasing, Blythe. You already show a dedication and attention to detail that many licensed doctors I know still lack. I am eager to see how you progress in your medical career; one that I’m sure the world will be better for having.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes meeting his teacher’s as he said in full earnest, “… Thank you. That means a whole lot coming from you.”

“Don’t thank me; I only state the truth”, she said briskly, arms folding across her chest as she assessed him. “Which brings me to my own professional diagnosis of you: you’re not getting enough sleep.”

“I’m… I’m fine, I can assure you–”

“Difficulty concentrating, anxiety and irritability”, she listed methodically.

“I’m not irritable!” Gilbert retorted, eyebrows furrowing as he reeled back.

The middle-aged woman merely lifted an eyebrow, giving him an entirely judgemental once-over before tilting her chin at him. For a moment, they stared at one another in a battle of wills, neither one willing to concede. Finally, the young man looked up, taking a deep breath as he brushed his dishevelled curls back in vain. “I’m sorry for that… I’m… managing.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, and then she folded his books close before leaning onto the heels of her palms as she fixed him into place. “Blythe… how old are you.”

His eyes fluttered. “Seventeen, ma’am. Eighteen in December.”

“Seventeen”, she nodded, lips thinning into a line. “Barely past childhood, and yet the young man I see before me has lived a thousand more lives than many others his age. I can see you’ve had quite a momentous time on Earth already, and as such, you’ve had to grow up faster than most. I admire you for it”, she said with another nod, eyes narrowing as she did so. “It isn’t an easy thing, to be thrust unwillingly into adulthood; however, I can see you’ve handled it rather well.”

“Thank you”, he replied simply, for his mind was blank for other words.

She hummed, looking down as she heaved a breath. Looking up into his eyes once more, she continued with a quiet intensity, “However, if you continue to incessantly accelerate your ageing in such a way, then funnily enough, you will put yourself in an early grave. I have seen far too many young minds such as yours in too much of a hurry to grow up, and it has brought terrible consequences for them in their maturity. So… my prescription to you… is to _slow down_. Take time to smell the roses.”

Gilbert felt numb as he stared into his teacher’s eyes and smiled with practiced conviction. “Thank you for your concern, Dr Oak, but really… I’m alright.”

Her hawklike eyes narrowed at him once again from under the frame of her glasses. Suddenly, she reached across and grabbed his book and opened it up. “Page three-hundred-and-twenty-two that you were on, wasn’t it?” she asked as she licked her fingertip and flicked through the pages.

“…Yes.”

“Hmm.”

He waited patiently, hands folding in front of him as he watched her turned the pages with a certain speed until she stopped on the exact one he’d been on just minutes before. His eyes darted between the words and Dr Oak as she adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Uh… infection… blood cells, _tch tch tch tch tch_ … no current cure… _hm hm_ , Sepsis…”

Glancing over the rim of her glasses, there was a knowing softness in her usually hard eyes. “Something you’re passionate for?”

Feeling an old, well-known lump in his throat, Gilbert slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “I had friend… a sister, really, who contracted it earlier this year after she got cut on a knife… I was the one to tell her she had a matter of weeks left.”

She breathed a small sigh, shaking her head as she straightened up. “Horrible condition… I’m incredibly sorry for your loss. That must’ve been hard for you.”

He chuckled bitterly as tears prickled his eyes, looking up to hide them from visibility. “I’ve gotten used to it…”

“The most insistent quandary I’ve had about pursuing medicine is condemning myself to spend my life just… handing out death sentences”, he explained through the godforsaken lump that halted his words. “I want to be able to not just help people, but to _save_ them. There’s so much left to be uncovered in medicine that will change how we view disease and illness. Not just with your antitoxin studies – which, may I inject, are _incredible_ , and I can’t believe I get to witness this discovery unfold – but also in-in fighting infection, and even preventing such ailments to develop in the first place. I mean… imagine: we could one day live in a world where many of the diseases that plague us now are entirely eradicated…” he said through the excited smile that begun to form on his forlorn expression. Then he remembered, and it fell once more. “I… I want to make sure that no one, or as few people as possible, have to go through that kind of pain… the pain of experiencing it, and the pain of living without them once they’re gone.”

He took a steadying breath, removing his hands from his pockets to rest them on his hips, and looked at his teacher as he awaited her response. She was looking back at him, in a calculating sort of manner; though, there was no hardness to her inquisitive eyes. She pursed her lips, glancing down as she removed her glasses. “Blythe… people like you are the reason I teach medicine. You are the _very_ ideal person to want pursue it as a career, and it is my role to ensure that I aid you in any way possible to make the future brighter for doctors and their patients everywhere. I realise you have barely begun your journey to such heights, but know that if you ever have any queries, questions, topics you’d wish to discuss, my door is always open.”

“… Thank you, Dr Oak. I appreciate it more than words can say.”

She hummed with a smile. “If you wish to show your gratitude to me in some way, I have an idea.”

“Of course. Anything”, he replied quickly, straightening as he gathered his books.

An eyebrow quirked as she fixed him with a knowing smirk. “It’s a more prescription to aid your current affliction: take time to do something you _enjoy_. And I mean _purely_ enjoy. Your brilliant mind becomes useless and of lunacy unless it receives proper rest.”

“But, I–”

“Ah-ah; no buts! Doctor’s orders. And at _least_ seven hours of sleep per day”, she asserted, pointing a finger at him before turning on her heel. “Now, it _really_ is time for me to be off; any longer, and I’ll have to sprint part of the way, which is something my body is no longer able to do without triggering my respiratory issues.”

“Oh!” he jumped, running toward the door to hold it open. “After you, Dr Oak.”

“Men and thinking that women are incapable of prying a door open. Honestly, this is why suffrage is growing in popularity”, she chastised with a good-natured roll of her eyes. “Thank you very much, Mr Blythe. Remember to heed my words!”

He grinned. “Was the dosage once or twice daily?”

“Daily?! Good Lord, boy; I don’t want you to _completely_ neglect your studies. Once weekly should suffice”, she called from in front of him, as her short legs carried her forward. “Ensure it’s a sufficient amount, though! Up the dosage if your face isn’t splitting into a grin afterwards.”

“Shall do, Doc!” Gilbert called back, a laugh in his voice. “Have a good night.”

“And you, Blythe!”

As Gilbert travelled along the slick cobblestone street that night, he mulled over his time in Toronto thus far, and on Dr Oak's words profound words. Since he'd been in the great and wide city, he had been going through the daily motions, completely and utterly focused on his distant goals and aspirations. He'd been so swamped in his own thoughts, study, and work that he'd barely had time to consider testing the waters that his classmates appeared to be trying. Whenever he'd gone to drink, it had been for a source of reprieve after a long day's work, and rarely one of leisurely past-time; his brows furrowed as he made a silent promise to not fall into a habit he'd later regret.

He'd never really stopped to think about it, but now that the seed had been planted within his mind, he realised his professor was entirely right: he'd stopped being a boy since his father became gravely ill. There'd been brief bursts into what his childhood might've been, but the stark contrast of how he presented himself to the world was suddenly jarringly clear: whilst the rest of his grade school class had been getting drunk off of moonshine by the magical ruins, he'd been sitting in armchairs with a cigar in one hand, and rum in the other. He swallowed thickly, trudging along the street as bar music echoed from ahead.

Some ragtime tune was playing from inside the infamous public house, and Gilbert went to turn a blind eye before his steps faltered and he paused. Where had his sense of undying adventure gone? When had he turned into a man who would simply ignore the impassably exciting? Who knew what opportunities awaited him? He'd only know if he dared to look. Squaring his shoulders, he marched up the steps, tipping his cap politely as a promiscuous figure passed him by. He stepped over the threshold and reeled back in surprise at the sudden cry from the bar stools down a ways. Looking up, his eyes met those of a few other medical students, all waving him over enthusiastically. He blinked, a soft smile dawning on his face, and went to socialise with them. He felt the weight upon his shoulders lessen as he chuckled amongst their witty banter, accidently spilling ale onto his vest. One of his chums dissolved into a disturbing sort of laugh, and soon the humour was directed at him instead.

_“Do something you enjoy.”_

While he was beginning to appreciate Toronto and her bustle, whenever those words flashed in his mind, so did visions of holding his dear niece, of catching up with his old schoolfriends, of twirling around a fire-haired girl as their laughter drifted up to the clouds. The band music and raucous chatter faded from his conscious mind, and as his half-lidded eyes softened, he focused on that airy laughter that echoed in his soul. Richard’s words had certainly troubled him, but all it took was to focus on the words of _her_ letters that were ingrained in his mind, and peace was restored. Lifting the pint to his lips, he smiled in secrecy. Perhaps the Doctor was right; maybe a little self-indulgence was just the right medicine for his aching heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Gladioli: the flower of Strength, Moral Integrity, and Infatuation_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me frantically scrambling through my old bio notes* wasn’t there a guy called mental? Ohhhh mendel, was it?
> 
> nawwwwww gilly boyyyyy, we love youuuuu  
> anne is completely clueless to just how boss she is, and why all these hotties are so head-over-heels for her.  
> also richard (dick) is my little creation and i love he already. expect to see more of this idiot
> 
> the response to this so far has been AMAZING and it makes me WANNA CRY, and I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!! i appreciate every single kudos, and comment, and bookmark with all my heart, and i love to hear all your theories and thoughts about the storyline
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: anne is #pining for her mans, feeling incredibly angry about the BIGOTS, and decides a visit is in order to calm her nerves. also, study is a bitch


	5. Petunia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and a couple of friends are enjoying an afternoon out when trouble erupts from nearby. The fiery redhead is driven to mad melancholy, and desperately seeks out respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS A BIT LATE AHH  
> btw, there is some Mi'kmaq language in this. i'll provide a translation in the end notes  
> woooo we've had 3000 hits! omg you guys! also, a hugely massive THANK YOU for all the amazing response to the last chapter. it was honestly incredible

It was Friday the thirteenth of October, the sky was overcast, and Anne was entirely certain she’d passed by a sly, lithe black cat. So, in hindsight, not the most promising set of omens. However, when she’d walked out of the boarding house with Josie and Jane, she had been immediately greeted with the most beautiful array of amber, peach, pumpkin, and rust-coloured flood of leaves before her. From there, she decided she was going to enjoy the late-afternoon outing with her blessed friends no matter the cynical pathetic fallacy currently at play, and she made up her mind firmly. And as she walked along the sunset-lit avenue with her two companions, she concluded that it had absolutely been the right idea. Autumn was a natural phenomenon far too magnificent to miss.

“I still don’t understand why exactly we’re letting ourselves be kicked out”, Josie huffed, sticking her chin into the air as they walked through Charlottetown. “Not that I’m not glad to be rid of Mrs Blackmore and her overbearing stature, because I am.”

“Gosh, Josie, how many times do we have to go over this?” Jane piped up, fixing her a pointed look. “As Tillie, Ruby and Diana are the only ones of us with beaus, they are having a private discussion on their respective plans. Really – it’s not _that_ difficult to grasp.”

The blonde glared back. “Well, then, by _that_ logic, Anne should be right alongside them; not stringing us along to wherever it is she’s taking us premature _spinsters_!”

“In case it escaped your incredibly spacious head, Anne’s beau is in _Toronto_ , and therefore, it is physically impossible for them to court every other weekend, you complete ditz!”

“Alright, will both of you settle?” Anne chuckled with a roll of her eyes, shaking her head at the quarrelling pair on either side of her. “They didn’t kick us out; we decided to have a moment of solidarity while they consolidated with each other. They’ve all made plans with their suitors for tomorrow, and they just want to go over the finer details of their topical intentions. And it’s as Jane said… Gilbert’s in Toronto… it’s not as though I’m going to see him _tomorrow_ … so…”

Silence befell the trio as Anne trailed off, biting the inside of her cheek as she glanced down. From the shallow of her periphery, she spotted the two share a troubled look, with Josie taking a deep, measured breath before resting an unsure hand on Anne’s green puffed sleeve. “Anne, I… that was insensitive. I-I didn’t mean to bring your situation up. It must be hard…”

“Oh, no, Josie…”, she chuckled with a shake of her head and a rueful smile, “it’s alright. It’s… simply a fact that I’ve come to terms with. It isn’t something that can simply be changed at the drop of dime, and I truly believe that, like any great romance, distance only makes the heart grow fonder. I, of course, wish Gilbert were at Queen’s, but school comes first and foremost, and we’ve both been devotedly clear that we’ll support each other in our ambitions from afar.”

The blonde sighed, brows furrowing slightly as she glanced away, parasol twirling idly in hand. “Well… _I_ can scarcely understand it, but you two were always rather queer…” she trailed off, looking up as her lips pursed. Sliding a teasing eye at Anne, she then said, “Huh. It’s a wonder we all didn’t catch on about your hidden affections. You’re a pair written in the stars.”

The rather romantic line was delivered with such a contrastingly disgusted tone that Anne couldn’t help the snort that erupted from her. She brought a gloved hand up to stifle it, but the action was entirely in vain, and Josie rolled her eyes at the unladylike sound. “Oh, have some decorum, Anne. We’re out in public, for heaven’s sake.”

“Like anyone cares about a trio of young women”, Anne said with a quirk of her brow. “Besides, expressing amusement should never be filtered, and if another person is perturbed by my laughter, then that’s a fault on their part. It’s the best medicine, after all.”

She winced as a finger poked into her side, and she wheeled around with a look of offense to see Jane looking entirely unamused. “ _You_ may not care, Anne, but I do; sure as eggs is eggs! You have a suitor, so you may traipse whimsically all over town without a worry in the world, but I am on the _hunt_.”

“The _hunt_ ”, Anne deadpanned.

Cornflower blue eyes stared resolutely back. “Yes. We’re finally out of Avonlea, where the only men were either far too young, far too _immature_ , _taken_ , or of relation to me. The rest of you have had a romantic prospect at the very least. I must catch up.”

“It’s not a race, Jane.”

“It very well might as be one”, Josie tutted on her other side, shaking her head. “The pressure on us to be promised to someone is increasing every day that we’re not! My mother visited the other day and the _very first_ thing she asks me is if I’ve made amends with Billy. It’s honestly ridiculous.”

Anne hummed in agreement. “The whole affair is ludicrous; the expectation placed on women to be married before twenty or society dubs them eternal spinsters, whereas men are _hailed_ as prized bachelors, it’s just… boggles my mind, in truth. The inequity of it.”

“That’s just the way of things”, Jane chided them, looking as though they’d begun speaking gibberish, “and it’s the way it’s always been. No point in fussing over it… Lord, you all sound like Prissy.”

“Doesn’t mean that’s how things have to remain” the fire-haired girl furrowed her brows. “A world in fear of change is in danger of succumbing to mundanity and desolation.”

“Who said that?”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, circa 1899”, she winked to Josie.

Jane rolled her eyes in humoured exasperation. “Well, you two can go join the suffrage movement for all I care, but I’m still content in finding myself a man and settling down. Have you even talked to another potential suitor after the whole incident with Billy?”

“Actually, I _have_ ”, the blonde snapped, blood quickly ignited at the mention of the repressed memory. Clearing her throat, she raised her chin proudly, sidestepping a puddle along the street. “I was finding amicable company in Cole Mackenzie at Pris’ party.”

The russet-haired girl raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “And?”

Anne winced pre-emptively, having an educated guess as to just how that interaction went. Her concerns were confirmed when Josie grit her teeth, looking off to the side with a huff. “Well… we went and got drinks, danced for a bit, and then started to speak with Pris… at which point, during the conversation, I turned and he was… gone.”

Jane silently chuckled, eyes squeezing shut as she covered her mouth with her hand. At the flash of a parasol, Anne jumped forward with a yelp as Josie poked their friend’s side. “Stop your hollering! He probably saw some fellows he knew and wanted to acquaint me with them, but then couldn’t find me again.”

“Oh, this is _rich_ ”, she grinned as the blonde continued to joust her with the business end of the umbrella. “He probably skedaddled out of there the first chance he had. First man to show the slightest interest in you, and he literally _sneaks away_.”

“That’s unfair on both Cole _and_ Josie”, Anne rebuked, eyebrows knitting at her friend’s incogitant words.

Josie scoffed, waving a flippant hand. “Honestly, tease me all you want; Pris made for lovely and refreshing company, and we got along quite well during the night. I hardly remembered speaking with Cole at one point.” A teasing glint shimmered in her eye as she leaned across, smirking as she asked with a tone of mockery, “And at least I _talked_ to a boy, Jane. Where were you?”

“O-o-o _kay_ ”, Anne interjected, placing hands out to her side against the girls on the edge a quarrel. “Let’s just simmer down, shall we? We’re nearly at the restaurant! You both _have_ to try the pierogis; they’re simply divine.”

At their quizzical looks, she clarified with, “They’re a Ukrainian delicacy; quite popular in Alberta.”

Their continued silent queries brought a flush of warmth to her face as she then said, “Gilbert told me about them. He was rather fond of them when he’d been travelling with his father, and managed to find a source of them in Toronto. He prompted me to seek some out myself.”

“And there it is”, Josie said with a sly look to Jane, their eternal feud seemingly halted for a moment.

Anne had been a breath away from rebutting with a completely obliterative line that would have left the two gasping for air when suddenly, a shouting cacophony rose from ahead. She stopped short, looking to each of the girls as they shared a troubled glance. Looping their arms guardingly, they walked toward the origin of the outrage, drawing one another closer as they got nearer. Anne swallowed thickly as they rounded the street corner, and the noise rose exponentially as they drew toward the huddled crowd. Exchanging another glance with Jane and Josie, Anne freed herself from their arms and manoeuvred through the throng of jeering people.

“Bloody chug, get goin’!”

“No one wants you here!”

“Redskin bastard.”

“Dirty Indians… the lot of them, just filthy animals.”

Chest heaving, she broke through to the front of the hecklers with a grunt, pulling up short at the sight before her with a gasp. “ _Kitpu_!”

She rushed forward to the centred young boy, who stood defiantly despite the tremble of his lip clutching at his tawny hat. Falling carelessly to her knees, Anne reached to take his impossibly small hands in her own, drowning out the raising noise level around her as she clutched him tightly. “ _Kitpu, me' katu taliaq_?”

“Miss, get away from the Indian child!”

The young boy looked around, dark eyes sparkling with unshed tears at the hostile onlookers, so Anne reached to cup his face. As the fabric of her glove touched him, he jolted away, wide eyes looking at her in wild terror. She glanced between him and her hand, and in a brilliant moment of desperate clarity, she lifted the glove to her mouth, capturing the fabric in her teeth as she pulled it off. “ _Kitpu…”_ she began with an encouraging smile, raising her hand tentatively to cup his cheek once more. “ _Eym, Melkita'ulamun… ktutem. Ankweyul.”_

“Anne, what are you _doing_?” Josie’s hiss went ignored.

The redhead’s words seemed to placate the agitated young boy, and as he took a shaky breath, Anne thanked her blessed stars that she’d taken it upon herself to find any and all ways to continue learning the language. “ _N-Nmis… Nmis alamk. Ketui elma’lik. Aq nkij aq nujj, netaji kikmanaq_.”

Her heart shattered, and she dragged her thumb across a single tear that trailed down his cheek. “They are in Halifax, Nova Scotia… Ah… _Sim Pie’lk, mniku qame’k… eimu’tisni’k. Kitpu… tatuji pmlika’?”_

“ _We’kaiw amasikiskik…”_ His bottom lip began to tremble evermore fervently, and he sniffed as he choked out, “ _Wutan nesutuwa’tisni. Kesik wejku’aq… ne’sijik… nkwe’ji’j aq ni’n we’kwata’si.”_

“Someone pull that woman away before the ruffian tries something.”

“ _Pkije’nuk astua’sij…”_ she trailed off, the uncertainty forming a lump in her throat, “ _ajipjulnek.”_

He inhaled sharply, and his next words were spoken in a hysteric cry. “ _Altuitaiek! Na’kwek, aji-pikwelk maljewe’j ela’lut kina’matino’kuomk! Ka’kwet, melknat aq apaja’sit istue’k… jiliplneyimk.”_ He paused, and when he next spoke, he was glaring steadfast past Anne in a righteous, terrified fury. _“Elsu’tmaq wape’k mimajuinu._ ”

Rough hands grabbed her by the forearm, ripping her away from the young child as the panic arose amongst the crowd. Struggling against the current, she screamed out to the boy as burly, scabrous men began to rush at him. “ _Kitpu, ketkwi’k! Elmitukwi’k!_ Go, _run!_ ”

The Mi’kmaq youth gave her one last look of resolute horror before bolting off, disappearing skilfully into the woods beyond the row of houses as men clamoured in an attempt to chase him. Anne knew with a shred of satisfied hope that they were vastly at a disadvantage. She nodded with the shadow of a smirk as she heard the tell-tale yells of frustration from the shelter of the oaks and spruces. Her imagination wandered, and for what could have been a mere second or several lifetimes, she dreamed that she broke away, chasing after the young boy into the trees, laughing in unadulterated joy as she caught up with him, and together, they ran off with nature in all her thrilling glory.

She was thrown roughly back into her present situation as the large, course hands upon her were replaced with two pairs shakily checked her over, their owners speaking in rushed, worried tones.

“Anne! Oh, my goodness, are you insane?! Actually, don’t answer that; but what were you thinking?!” Josie’s blunt tone chastised her relentlessly, piercing blue eyes into her very soul.

Jane huffed, patting down the ruffles that had formed on her sleeve after the belligerent man-handling. “You ought to think things through before you throw yourself into situations. What if that boy had a weapon? You could have been _seriously_ harmed!”

Anne pulled away from them, wheeling around to look at them in complete admonishment, flicking her horrified gaze between the young women. “Were the two of you watching the same scenario I was? Did you see what I saw?” Without turning, she pointed angrily behind her. “Because what _I_ just witnessed was a young, innocent and unarmed _child_ being harassed by a group of aggressive and unjust fully-grown men, for no other reason than that he was born on land stolen from him…”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she pulled back in disgust. “Or were you just too blinded by your own fog of prejudice?”

She turned from their writhen faces to confront the lingering crowd, reflecting their offended glares back tenfold as she began to shuck her gloves back on. “What is _wrong_ with you all?! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Utterly _ashamed_ ; assaulting a _child_ not yet ten years old. You throw around words like ‘ruffian’ and ‘barbarian’, but honestly? Those are terms better used to self-reflect on. ‘Kill the Indian, Save the Child’… what an incredible lie that is.”

Picking up her discarded parasol, she pushed past Josie and Jane, blatantly ignoring their protests as she stormed back toward the boarding house. Her form-fitting, heeled boots cut into her ankles she ran, blisters forming along the ridges as she thundered past the leisurely strolling ladies and gents of Charlottetown. Angry tears blurred her vision as she prayed to the Lord on high that Kitpu had made it into the safety of the forest’s shroud. Time, place, and her special awareness faded away as people called out protests from her shouldering into them carelessly, her one-track mind focusing on her house as she neared it in record time. She hauled the wrought iron gate, slamming it shut with a clang as she ran up the stone pathway, cutting the stairs into just two leaps before knocking abrasively on the wooden door.

Mrs Blackmore had barely opened the door when the torpedo of red and green brushed past her, and she spluttered indignantly at the lack of delicate greeting from Anne. “Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, young ladies of class do not behave in such a brash and outrageous manner. Have a sense of dignity!”

What good was dignity when it certainly didn’t seem to be applicable to all deserving of it? She surged up the stairs, the soles of her boots banging loudly against the mahogany planks as she reached the top and ripped around the corner that led to her room. She knew she would be allowed a brief moment of solitude as the other three girls were in Tillie’s room, and completely unaware of her arrival. Throwing the door open, she slammed it shut and pressed her back against it, finally taking a breath. She glanced up toward the ceiling as her throat constricted and tears threatened to be shed.

“No, no, I will _not_ cry”, she shakily muttered, chest wracking in dry sobs. “I am _not_ the one suffering, and therefore, I have no right, nor time to cry. My focus _must_ be on bringing about a proper change of view and heart. I can’t do that if I’m too busy wasting tears that belong to someone else… Come on, Anne… breathe.”

Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, sealing them shut as she pressed the heels of her palms hard against them.

 _Soft brown eyes stared at her in a kind smile, one that she felt reflected in her very soul. “Well, if I was an Elder and could choose your name, it would be… Melkita'ulamun. A strong and brave heart. When your eyes seek and your heart is open, that is_ true _brave.”_

She steadied herself against the wood on her back, feeling her chest rise and deflate with every sound breath. Slowly, her hands fell away and were pressed flat against the door, and after another moment of brevity, her eyes slid open and full of awareness. Barred owls hummed their quiet hoots as dusk began to settle on the horizon outside, painting the room in a glorious twilight blue. The departing flickers of cloud-blessed sunlight caught in the corners of the room, and every inch was lit in a fraction of beauty. It was perfect serenity, and a perfect reminder to Anne.

Ka’kwet had deemed her worthy of such an incredibly full and exquisite name. She had truly believed that this hot-tempered, redheaded girl was deserving of such ethereal praise; and as Anne walked over toward her bed, kneeling down to pull out the filled stocking that Matthew had bestowed her, she vowed to her friend, on the spirit of Mary, that she would live up to it.

* * *

Once again, Anne found herself waiting at a train station, poised ever so gingerly with her bag resting upon her thighs. Tendrils of fire framed her face and gently shook as she turned her head, lips pursed, eyes calculating as she looked toward the track. Her stomach grumbled in protest, and she rolled her eyes with a soft scoff.

It was just seven-twenty-nine on a Saturday morning, and the first train of the day would be arriving any moment now. She’d been up since dawn’s first light, packing the bare necessities before leaving the note detailing her whereabouts by Diana’s bedside, placing a peck upon her sleeping bosom friend’s head before making her way downstairs. Lily had been startled her early presence, flashing her a look as the redhead quickly sliced herself a piece of bread, mumbling a goodbye through the food as she raced out of the door. The run to the town’s train station had been exhilarating in her every-day boots, the crisp, autumn air filling her lungs with an energising chill, and the youthful behaviour had brought a wild grin to her face.

However, as she now sat, eagerly waiting, she’d wished perhaps let the journey last longer, as the cold seeped through her blouse and to her skin. The winter of 1899/1900 was going to be one of relentless snow and chilling temperatures, and autumn was sending the world into a shiver in preparation. Blowing out through chattering teeth, she unclasped her brown case and dived in for her matching sage jacket, masking the goosebumps on her arms as she slugged it on. She nestled into it as much as the fabric would allow, pulling the flaps across her torso tight. A visible breath passed from her lips as her foot tapped incessantly, minutes passing like hours.

“Mornin’ to you, miss”, an accented voice announced from beside her. Head whipping around, she was met with a portly older gentleman, tipping his bowler hat toward her.

She smiled warm despite the weather around her, nodding her head in a return gesture. “And a splendid morning to _you_ , sir.”

“Y’aren’t here for the train to Stratford, are you?” He gestured toward the platform opposite with a knobbly finger. “You need to be findin’ yourself on that platform o’er there. Most young folks are wantin’ to head to that town for the weekends. Heaven knows what you all get up to.”

“Oh, no, I’m quite alright, thank you”, she answered, straightening in the seat. “I am exactly where I need to be. Or, rather, for the _direction_ toward the place I need to be.”

His brows furrowed for a moment, before his eyes suddenly lit up. “Ah…”, he tapped the side of his nose, smile lines crinkling on his face, “Bright River, then. An Avonlea girl, are you?”

“Not born, but certainly bred, yes”, she said proudly.

“Visiting family?”

A secret smile adorned her face. “In the most profound sense of the word.”

“How lovely”, he attested, resting hands on his round hips. “Well, the train bound for Bright River shouldn’t be far off now, I’d say. Have you bought your ticket, then?”

She nodded, flashing the little white paper before gently placing it back into her skirt pocket. “The gentleman in the booth served me about a half hour ago. He seemed to be rather relieved at some company, despite the early hour.”

“Arnold?” he exclaimed, eyes widening before turning around to look to the interior of the building. “Well, I’ll be. You _must_ have been here early! Arnold, the poor lad, just keeps watch over the place at night; he rarely expects customers. You are in right hurry to be home, aren’t you?”

Her mission flew back into her mind. Anne took in a steady breath, nodding in a somewhat solemn, yet determined nature. “Yes… yes, I am.”

He hummed, pulling out a pocket watch just as the whistle and screeching metal of a train sounded ahead. “Well, hope you have a lovely trip, miss, and have a great weekend. Seems like you’re the only one boarding at this hour.”

“Thank you very much, sir. You too”, she breathed into the crisp morning air as she gathered her belongings, squaring her shoulders as she turned toward the black steam engine.

It came to a halt with creaky squeal, sighing as its master popped out through the window to call in a deep, booming voice, “All a _boooaaard_! All aboard for Brackley, New Glasgow and Bright River!”

Filling her chest with a purposeful breath, she marched forward, presenting her ticket to a crew member as she gripped the railing and hauled herself up onto the carriage. She walked along the aisle, spotting a few scattered passengers here and there, before settling herself into an unoccupied booth. The carriage was much warmer than the cool October outside, so she carefully removed her jacket, folding it up and placing it gently on her lap. Her head slowly turned as the train gave one last whistle, and she watched through the early morning mist as they began to depart the station. Soon, the station was almost beyond her periphery, and the glorious landscape of the untouched part of Prince Edward Island filled her vision.

A small, quiet sigh blew through her nose, and she watched it fog up the glass. Raising a delicate finger, she traced five letters into the condensation and looked out at the gradient sky of amber to blue. Through the A, S, and C, the sun was kissing the horizon, just cresting over the beautiful rolling hills through the G and B that she loved so dearly. A flock of geese flew in formation toward the locomotive, and Anne craned her head to maintain her focus on them as they flew over. In spite of herself, her lip quirked. No matter what came of her own world and the wider one, her island would always be pristine and wondrous; a beauty that everyone of every walk of life could sit and smile at.

* * *

“Please, Mr Lynde, I must _insist_ I oblige you in some way. Even just a fifty-cent piece.”

“No, no, no, Anne; don’t even think twice of it! You’re a neighbour, after all – it’s hardly neighbourly to leave one sitting alone at the train station. Besides, Rachel would have my head if I told her the story of finding you about to _walk all the way_ to Green Gables, heaven forbid, and just trotted on past. My absolute head, I tell you.”

“I suppose you’re quite right about that. That’s _certainly_ something I could imagine Mrs Lynde doing.”

The two companions chuckled, the older of the pair carefully guiding his flighty bay mare along the red road. Feeling the familiar rush that travelling along the way to Avonlea always gave her, she grinned bright at her surroundings, whipping her hat off to fully embrace the seaside wind. She closed her eyes, letting her senses of sound and smell paint her the picture of waves crashing against the cliffside, the salt carried by the breeze, alongside maples and pines and spruces, eagles and ospreys crying high above. Her lashes fluttered in the sweet oblivion, and as she breathed deeply in, a wide grin graced her features, inquisitive and panoptic storm-blue eyes looking at the place she loved so dearly.

“Matthew and Marilla sure must be excited to have you home.”

She turned back around to Thomas Lynde’s twinkling eyes, chuckling softly as she tucked a windswept ringlet behind her ear. “I hope so. It’s just, I… didn’t make them _entirely_ aware that I was coming? My visiting is something of an… outburst of spontaneity, you see?”

“Hm, I do”, he nodded. “Though, I think folks have learned to certain degree to expect your endless surprises, Miss Anne.”

She hummed, eyes darting to the back of the cart, where a brilliant bouquet of flowers lay in silent beauty. Biting her lip, she glanced between her companion and the object of her attention. “The flowers?”

He smiled wryly, chuffing the mare on as she spooked at the oncoming shadows of the forest. “For my darling wife. We’re celebrating forty years of marriage today, wouldn’t you know? Thought I’d treat her to some of her favourite buds to remind her how deeply I care for her. That’s just what I was picking up when I came across you.”

Anne gasped in delight, a hand coming up to rest against the man’s bicep. “Mr Lynde, how wonderful! Forty incredible years, and you’re still so passionately enamoured with one another. Oh, you and Mrs Lynde are my absolute romantic ideal! I should only be so lucky to someday have what you two possess.”

“Oh”, he tutted with a blush, looking at her with a pursed smile, cheeks appleing in a smile. “You are far too kind, Anne. And if I’m being entirely honest with you, I’m not sure how Rachel has put up with me all these years. Nor I her.”

His mirthful eyes glittered evermore mischievously, and he leaned a shoulder toward her with a cocked eyebrow. “Though… word on the grapevine… and by grapevine, I mean my wife… is that you and a certain fellow from our neck of the woods may be in pursuit of such a relationship, hm? Mr Gilbert Blythe, I believe was who I heard her yammering about.”

Anne chuckled good-naturedly, albeit nervously, and she bit her lip. “I shouldn’t be surprised. News travels like a flighty hare on the run when Mrs Lynde’s involved.”

“That it does. It certainly has been something of a conversation piece, I’ll tell you that”, he winked, clicking the mare on as they cleared out of the woods and toward the White Way of Delight. The redhaired girl beside him turned toward the pearly petals, hands reaching for the elegant branches, fingertips brushing against the velvety flowers. She was suddenly reminded of just how much these ethereal places that filled her heart with such a thrill meant to her. Her eyes glistened with constricting emotion, and she jarringly wondered how she’d ever left in the first place.

They travelled in idle chatter for the next while, circling around the Lake of Shining Waters at a steady trot. Light danced across the gentle waves as ducks shook their iridescent plume out, gliding along the rippling liquid. Anne wondered where exactly in the wide scope of the world they’d travel once the lake froze over.

The carriage rattled down the path, and it wasn’t before long that the Lynde estate came into view. In her periphery, Anne eyed off the beautiful bouquet, and came to a decision with a knowing smile. Turning to Mr Lynde, she began to gather her few possessions as she announced, “If you wouldn’t mind pulling up for a moment, Mr Lynde, I’d like to walk the rest of the way.”

His brows furrowed. “Anne—”

“No, really!” she insisted with a bright smile. “I’ve become far too cooped up at college, and rarely have a spare moment to properly stretch my legs. You know from Mrs Lynde just how much of a spirited child I was; always running about the farm, as full of limitless energy as they come. I utterly miss relishing in the feeling of being among nature, and if I can prolong the incredibly slight and insignificant journey to Green Gables remaining to experience that euphoria once more, then I simply _must_ take the opportunity as it presents itself!”

He blinked profusely at her perfectly orchestrated outburst, and after clearing his throat, he pursed his lips. “Well… I still don’t know how I feel about allowing a young lady to walk a distant when I can provide passage—”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s barely a ten-minute walk; and I can assure you, I have been on _many_ more a tumultuous journey unchaperoned. I’m more than capable of strolling down a nature-guided pathway on my own as a young, independent woman.”

“Mm, well, yes, there is something to be said of the independence of women… I will still feel much more secure about such business when Gilbert too is back home to accompany you”, he chastised, though Anne felt the carriage draw to a halt as he gently squeezed the reins.

The fiery young lady chuckled heartily, picking up her bags and leaping off the carriage with gumption. “I’m sorry to say, Mr Lynde, that I believe you’ll find Gilbert to be of similar stance to my view on the matter.”

He raised a teasing brow at her. “Doesn’t mean he won’t wish to be in your company. Nor you in _his_ , for that matter.”

With hummed laugh, she bit the inside of her cheek, eyes shining as she walked backward. “I suppose I can’t correct you there… Thanks again for the ride, Mr Lynde! Oh, and have a wonderful anniversary!”

“Thank you, Anne”, he tipped his hat, clicking the horse on before calling out, “and so good to have you home! Walk carefully, now.”

“I will!” she called back, hand coming against the top of her hat as the wind picked up, billowing her skirt and waving her hair on its current. She stayed rooted for a moment, watching as the carriage continued under the small archway of trees, the horse snorting as they began to near the courtyard. A quiet smile misted over her face, and with that, she wheeled around and began along the small path toward her most beloved Green Gables.

It was often hard to think that it was not even four years ago that she had first arrived by this picturesque place that not even her incredible and extensive imagination could conjure up. She’d presented as a scrawny, wiry, little trembling thing, hope glistening in her impossibly large doe eyes. Love and family and all those foreign concepts suddenly became treasured knowledge that she had come experience over her relatively short time on the Island. She had been a seed; kept in a frigid, dark corner of the globe for so long, and had finally been exposed to the gloriously warm sunlight, and welcoming soil that allowed her to flourish into the young woman she was today. And for that, she’d always be eternally grateful to the first place and people she’d been able to call ‘home’.

A light giggle escaped her as sparrows and chickadees flew over her head, twirling as she watched them disappear toward the glowing orb in the sky. When she’d finished turning, she glanced down and pulled up short. Before her as the white gates of her dearest Green Gables. Her home.

Emotion filled her to the brim, and gathering her skirt in her hands, she marched forward toward it. Frantic eyes glanced around for any sign of Matthew or Marilla, yet none presented itself to her as she flipped open the latch. It was only as she began to close it that she heard a familiar voice call out to her in a disbelieving tone. “…Anne?”

Wheeling around excitedly, she grinned and dropped her bag, running forward toward the barn to spring into surprised arms. “Jerry!” she cried out, laughing as the teenage boy stumbled in shock.

After Jerry finally recovered from the surprise attack, his arms circled around her back and the two engaged in a brief hug. A moment passed, and then the young French boy pulled away, looking at her in bewilderment. “Anne, what… what’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at college?”

“What?” she breathed through the laboured laugh, “Is it truly unthinkable that I’d leave and never pay you all a visit?”

He chuckled, the mop of dark hair falling across his eyes as he glanced down. “No… I suppose not.”

She considered him for a moment, brows knitting as she surveyed the young farmhand. Her hands came down to rest against his forearms, and she squeezed gently as she said, “How are you, Jerry?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thick, chest and shoulders rising as he took a great breath. “I’m good. I’m extra busy now that you’re not here, but I enjoy the work.”

He opened his mouth once more, brown eyes looking at her imploringly, but words appeared to fail him as he crawled back into his shell. Stepping back, he rubbed his hands against his sides, leaving a trail of dust along his trousers. A wide and open smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes was directed at Anne. “How is college?”

“It’s…” she began, shaking her head as she smiled lopsidedly, “It’s an experience. An exemplifying one, both… of positive and negative effect.”

“…Right”, he noted, nodding slowly. A familiar glint that she’d not seen in his eyes for some time sparkled cheekily. “Hopefully you’re enjoying it though, with your friends? Even if I’m not there to annoy you, tease you, go on and on about _love letters_ …”

He snickered as she poked his side, mouth pursing in an amiable frown. “Jerry Baynard, you’re a right heathen!”

“Hey, cut it out!” he exclaimed, raising his arms defensively. Anne continued her wild attack, unrelenting as he protested.

The two shared a bout of laughter before calming down, and the young woman turned to him expectantly. “So… are Marilla and Matthew home?”

He nodded, turning toward the cottage. “Yes, I believe they’re just stopping for lunch now”, he replied, turning back to her with a questioning expression. “They never told me you’d be arriving today.”

She hummed, gesturing for him to follow as she went to collect her discarded bag. “Yes, well, that is probably because I decided yesterday, rather suddenly, that I wished to come home momentarily.”

“Is everything alright?” his brows furrowed. “You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?”

“What is it with everyone always assuming that I’m up to precarious and mischievous things?!”

“Because you largely are?”

She deadpanned him as they made their way up to the house, walking alongside the paddock that led supportively up toward the gabled house. A high-pitched whinny sounded from it, and as Anne turned to the source of the sound, she gasped in jubilation.

“Butterscotch? Oh, she’s grown so much in the past month! Aw”, she cooed as the young filly came tentatively toward her, neck elongated as she sniffed cautiously. Anne kept her hand open and flat, gently clicking toward the little foal as bright, brown eyes looked up at her in wary awe. Another, deeper nicker came from behind her, and the young woman glanced up to see her chestnut mother came strolling up nonchalantly.

“Hello, dearest Belle”, she smiled, the mothering mare coming to butt her muzzle against Anne’s shoulder. A laugh escaped her, a hand coming to play with the horse’s thick and beautiful forelock, twisting the hairs around her finger. “I’ve missed you, too, mama. Look at you and your sweetheart, oh-so gorgeous baby.”

Receiving confirmation from her mother, the previously cautious filly came walking up in exaggerated strides, ears pricked forward as she sniffed along Anne’s hand and sleeving. Both young people chuckled as the baby palomino caught some of the green jacket sleeve in her mouth, chewing with a mixture of gum and tooth. “Butterscotch! No!”

“This is what you get for wearing green”, Jerry grinned, smile only growing as Anne turned to him in desperation.

She glared at him, finally getting the cuff of her sleeve out to smack the young French-Canadian with her bag. “Don’t be callous.”

They chuckled some more, light conversational and physical teasing as they walked toward the farmhouse. As they reached the porch, Jerry flicked her once in the shoulder as a farewell before returning to his chores. Anne shook her head in exasperation, a small smile gracing her lips as she turned back to the steps, and with ginger footing, silently walked up to rap on the door.

Her knee bobbed in bated expectation as she heard muffled, low voices within, excitedly differentiating between Marilla’s sharp tongue and Matthew’s low tone. From the quick snap of heeled boots, she smiled knowingly as Marilla approached the door.

Her chest swelled as the knob turned, and she bit her lip to keep the grin from splitting her face as Marilla’s own lined and taut one swam into view. At first, there was neutralism, then confusion, then shock as her mouth widened into an elated grin, surging forward with trembling hands as she cried, “Oh, my word! Oh, my girl, you’re here. Matthew! Matthew, come look!”

As her motherly figure hugged her tight to her bosom, hands clutching at her back ferociously, the scuffle of boots brought Anne’s attention up to see Matthew staring wide-eyed at her, posture less hunched then normal. The youngest Cuthbert laughed as joy-filled tears began to trickle down her face, and she lifted an arm to welcome her original kindred spirit into their quaint little familial embrace. He stuttered a smiling sigh, shoulders dropping as he walked toward them, wrapping his larger frame around hers and Marilla’s. Anne completely and utterly engulfed in warmth, let her eyes close as she sunk into the feeling of them and her home. She was home.

* * *

It was less than a half hour later that Marilla was back to her usual, stoic statue, tutting ceaselessly as she gathered the glasses and plates and entirely refusing Anne’s helping hand. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Anne; you’re as good as a guest now. Let me treat you as such for a moment.”

The redhead’s caring eyes followed her. “Marilla, it’s more than fine. You know how I much rather to be occupying myself and providing assistance instead of lazing about. It’s the very least I can do after arriving so unexpectedly.”

“Yes”, her tone deepened, fixing Anne with a stern eye. “You realise I haven’t had a chance to prepare a thing for you. Your room is hardly fitted for you to be sleeping in it.”

“When I went up there before, it looked _perfectly_ commodious to me.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. I hardly know if I have enough food planned for dinner tonight! Had you bothered to let us know of your arrival, I’d have cooked a nice shepherd’s pie.”

Anne stood. “Marilla—”

Matthew glanced between the two women, looking rather unsure of himself, yet somewhat amused.

“I would’ve even gone as far as adding some of Hazel’s spices! Ginger—”

“Marilla—”

“Coriander—”

“Marilla—”

“Even that, uh, what’s it called… Oh! Korma curry – yes, truly, I’d have thrown _that_ in.”

“Marilla!”

Anne stood before the frazzled woman, gazing at her with soft, understanding eyes. Sighing, she took the remaining dishes from her hands, placing them in the sink, and then held Marilla’s in her own. “It’s just me. Your Anne. You don’t need to go out of your way to prepare some extravagant feast, or to have my room looking like that of royalty. I am just _so happy_ to be here with the two of you. That is all I will ever need here. You are my _family_ , and I treasure your company more than anything of materialism.”

The elderly woman’s brows crossed as she took in a shaky breath, looking around uncertainly before settling on Anne once more. Misty blue eyes locked onto her with a fervent intensity, and for a fleeting moment, Anne believed the proud woman might shed a quiet tear. The moment, however, as expected, passed with Marilla taking a quick breath, stepping back to wring her hands.

“Well”, she spoke in a forcibly stern voice, “If that is the case, then I expect help in the kitchen for supper. More mouths to feed means more food to prepare.”

“Yes, Marilla”, she replied dutifully, sharing a wink with Matthew as she moved to sit down once more. Just as she moved to slide into the wooden seat, she jumped up with a start, turning to the man opposite her. “I almost forgot: would you mind terribly if I borrowed Midnight this afternoon? I’m assuming Belle is still unable to leave Butterscotch’s side. As well as being here for the pleasure of your company, there is some business I must attend to.”

He hummed, tearing apart a slice of bread to dip into the pumpkin soup before him, quirking a brow. “Not at all; though, it’ll only be another month or so before we start weaning the filly off her, so I’ll start bringing her back into work in time for Christmas”, he said, popping the soaked food into his mouth as he frowned. “Where’re you heading off to?”

“Matthew Cuthbert, honestly, how old are you? Don’t speak with food in your mouth.”

“A friend’s”, Anne answered cryptically, smiling innocently at the pair.

“Well… it’s fine by me if it’s alright with Marilla”, he said, lifting another morsel to his mouth as he turned expectantly to his older sister, looking at her with big silver eyes.

She turned to him in disbelief, and the two engaged in a silent battle of wills for a moment. Anne popped a slither of corned beef into her mouth, watching the interaction unfold in quiet hope. After a moment, the older woman groaned, shaking her heads as she dried her hands on her apron. “You’re both incorrigible. Just as bad as each other… _Fine_. But be home before the sun sets, you understand? Just because you’re considerably more adult now, doesn’t mean I trust you to find your way back in pitch darkness.”

“Yes; thank you, Marilla!” she praised, clamouring over to peck the woman’s cheek, before moving to Matthew and repeating the gesture.

She began to unbutton her coat, looking to the two of them as she pulled her trusty boots on. “We must catch up more when I get back. I want to hear all about your time on the committee board thus far, Marilla, and I desperately wish to learn if you’ve had any more Most Unusual vegetables being procured in the garden, Matthew.”

As she ran out the front door, calling a final ‘goodbye’, the two siblings exchanged a look of bemusement, yet pride. There was never a dull moment spent with their queer, not-so little girl.

Down by the barn, Anne hurriedly loosened her neck tie, chucking off her jacket to place carefully upon a chest of drawers largely free of dust. Midnight, who’d been happily munching away at a biscuit of hay, looked up at her with doe eyes from his stable. With a practiced expertise, the black gelding was tacked up and mounted by Anne within a few short minutes. It had been some small miracle that she’d been able to climb onto the high horse with her preposterously long skirt appearing to be a massive hindrance. Huffing once, she gathered the reins, pushing the skirt behind her bare knees. The sudden exposure to the cool air brought goosebumps trailing up her limb.

“I _really_ need to invest in some jodhpurs. Or some simple pants, at the very least”, she muttered under her breath, clicking her tongue and pressing her heels into the horse’s side. They trotted freely toward the gate, coming up to it side on so Anne could lean down and flip the latch. Jerry came running up beside her with a smile, holding it open as she passed through the barely sizeable gap with a poked-out tongue. She rolled her eyes, waving goodbye, and just like that, quick as a whip, girl and stead took off at a canter.

There was no more liberating feeling than riding on the back of a horse along the maritime countryside. The wind bit at her cheeks, painting them in a flush as she grinned wildly, rising out of the saddle as the body beneath her hastened. Hooves thundered along the dirt road, horseshoes clicking against scattered pebbles. She felt the pins holding her proper hairstyle in place shake loose, and soon, the waves were a cascading flame around her shoulders. The ride was a short one, but ever so invigorating, and the easy smile that split her face remained until she began to woah the big gelding, bringing him back to a steady trot, and then a walk as they approached the wood-enveloped house.

“E-e-easy there, boy”, she murmured low, stroking his neck as she brought him to a halt. She let out a small curse as she dismounted, finding it all too easy to become completely entangled in her excessive clothing.

Yes… pants were a must.

There was a slightly dishevelled hitching post by the cottage, to which she led Midnight and looped his reins around loosely. Once she was satisfied that he was sound and secure, she turned on her heel, gathered up her skirt and marched up to the porch, walking along a garden bed of petunias that led toward the bottle green door. She peered into the stain glass window, trying to make sense of the distorted shapes within. Humming to herself, she bit her lip as she knocked upon the door, swaying back and forth on her feet idly.

As the handle turned and great door began to swing open, her face began to break into a pre-emptive smile. It stopped short, as did her motions, when she gazed upon the greeter. “Bash?”

There, just over the threshold, stood Gilbert’s Trinidadian brother in the very flesh, just as surprised to see the spirited young woman before him. “Anne, you’re here. What a surprise!”

She chuckled incredulously, nevertheless stepping forward to bring him into her arms. “I came here on the basis of seeing Miss Stacey.”

She felt his hearty chuckle rumble from his chest. “I assumed as much.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, nonetheless”, she affirmed, looking at him ever so fondly. There was certain sparkle in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in months, and for some benevolent reason, some God-given reason, it was beginning to return. Her mouth thinned in an appreciative smile. “I can’t help but wonder, though… what are you doing here?”

“Ah, well, Anne with an E”, he winked, “Muriel is workin’ on a new smoker for me—oh, us, I should say. Us… As in the ‘us’ of the Blythe-Lacroix farm… Anyways, I popped over to see how things was coming along.”

Anne appraised him with a scrutinising eye, watching the way his chocolate skin darkened even more so across the bridge of his nose. She hummed noncommittally, glancing past his shoulder into the rambunctious interior. Slowly directing her attention back to him, she raised a brow surreptitiously. “ _Muriel_ , hm?”

“Hey, now”, he warned, pointing an accusatory finger. “I don’t wanna hear nothing from you, got it? It’s simply nice to have company that isn’t my overbearin’ mother or my blubberin’ baby girl, no matter how cute she is. Especially now that Blythe has up and left for college.”

His dark eyes lit up, mouth quirking into a smirk as he turned to her and said, “And speaking of the golden boy… a little bird told me that there’s a little… _romance_ a’brewin’ between you two?”

Anne chuckled helplessly through her groan, watching disbelievingly as he began to jig on the spot. “I suppose Rachel told you?”

“Actually, for once, _no_ ”, he grinned, seemingly more excited as he began to sway his hips. “Word travelled by letter, over and across the water from the man himself.”

Something akin to pride and giddiness sparked in Anne chest, and quietly, through a subtle smile, she muttered, “Gilbert told you?”

“It was the _very first thing_ we heard of him in Toronto”, Bash replied, now grinning wildly as his head bobbed to a silent tune. “The boy _gushed_ about you, relentlessly too; very much a lovesick teenager, in every possible way – not that I minded because, well… guess what?”

“What?” Her brows furrowed.

“‘Cause I knew it!” he exclaimed, startling a chuckling Anne back, slamming his fists into the air, “I knew it since he first said your name _all_ those years ago. I knew it. He was so desperately moony over you, but was being such a moke about it the _entire time_ , and let me tell you, I very nearly threw him off the side of the steamer on occasion. But, in the end, it was all worth it, because I _knew it! I win!_ And that boy can _never_ not listen to me again because I _always win!_ ”

Anne laughed joyfully at his antics, watching the man dance around on the spot before another familiar voice called out from within the house. “Bash? Who’s at the door?”

Grinning once more at Anne, he turned and called back, “How’s about you come see for yourself?”

A very audible sigh followed, yet Anne could hear the shuffling of boots along the floor. “You know better than to disrupt a woman’s mind when she’s in her workshop! It _completely_ disrupts the well-balanced rhythm of things, the very delicate balance also, mind you, as it often takes so long to tune into that perfect frequency of motivation and direction, so it had better be Susan B. Anthony at that door, or else I’ll— _oh my goodness!_ ”

Anne beamed. “Afternoon, Miss Stacy.”

“By the air I breathe, Anne!” the grease-covered blonde exclaimed, butting in front of Bash to bring her most impassioned former-student into a fierce embrace. “How incredibly delightful to be startled by your presence today!”

The two women gripped at each other, chuckling breathlessly as they began to pull away. Anne’s cheeks were beginning to ache from the grin plastered on her features. “I’ve missed you so dearly at Queen’s, Miss Stacy. It simply isn’t the same learning about the grand scope of the world without your guiding hand.”

“Oh”, she smiled bittersweetly, holding the redhead’s forearms in her calloused hands, “you hadn’t the first idea what it has been like teaching in a classroom without your insightful mind. I daresay I have missed you and all the others so wholeheartedly. And please, Anne; as I am no longer your teacher, sadly, though it was a most serendipitous experience to be so for _any_ point of time, you must call me Muriel. No need for hierarchal formalities.”

“Ah, you see? You’re to call her Muriel, too.”

The two of them turned at Bash’s inject, the more mature of the pair looking at him in bemusement, and the younger in barely concealed mirth. He seemed to remember himself, eyes widening before he quietly excused himself deeper into the house. Miss Stacy – _Muriel_ – shook her head incredulously at the man, muttering under her breath before turning to look at Anne once more. “So, Anne, as much as I’d love to believe you journeyed all the way from Queen’s to pay your old teacher a visit, I know you far too well for that belief to truly hold any weight.”

“Historical precedent certainly alludes to that, doesn’t it”, she chuckled plaintively, raising her brows in the memory of many a magnanimous mishap. “May I… come in?”

“Of course. Could I tempt you to some tea? Just brewed a fresh batch to sip whilst I work.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Picking up her skirt ever so slightly, she stepped over the threshold and into the house. It didn’t take the young woman to realise just how much she had missed the absolute clutter of her teacher’s living room, smiling fondly as she stepped passed an old chest she’d found herself sitting upon not too many moons ago. Sunlight broke in through the curtains and danced around the room in illuminating rays. Following the sound of a hammer thumping against wood, she walked into the living room and sat into a chair, finding the elegant little teacup waiting for her. She’d just taken a sip when Muriel walked back in, rubbing her hands against a rag.

“So”, she also pulled up a chair, sitting comfortably into it, legs wrapping around its back-facing position. Resting her forearms on the back of it, she fixed Anne with a look. “How can I be of service to you?”

Anne heaved a sigh, being careful about placing the cup down before turning to her mentor with a known expression of seriousness. “Well…” she began, before pausing, taking a moment to glance out the window.

Muriel was a kindred spirit in every sense of the phrase, and in particular, they both shared an innate appreciation for nature. Trees flanked every side of her quaint little cottage, and she rarely tried to tame it beyond her little flowerbed just outside. She lived and breathed for the wonder of the natural world, and Anne often found herself reminiscing on that excursion to the woods that had been cut fatefully short. The exuberant teacher had spoken so lively of the impossible feats of the forest ecosystem, sharing her complete and utter awe for the complexity of the world. In that way, they both shared rare similarities to those of the First Nations.

Taking a deep breath, she began again. “Along with completing my studies, I’ve been continuing my pursuit of justice for Mi’kmaq people in Charlottetown.”

A knowing, melancholic smile adorned the blonde woman’s face, and she nodded in silent solidarity.

“I’ve had some success in recovering information: facts, dates, absolutely horrifying statistics that would shock the public to their core”, Anne shook her head. “Every spare minute I haven’t been studying has been spent searching the library, scouring through the archives, and trying to piece together a coherent argument for the virtue of the indigenous. It’s been my primary focus to make sure everything is as factual and practical as possible, so all those who either read or hear my words… I’m still trying to decide on an appropriate format after the whole ‘What is Fair?’ fiasco… and, well, make the audience see the light through logic and reason. Summarising, it’s been quite the fashionable ordeal so far.”

“Indeed”, Muriel replied softly.

The younger woman wrung her hands, glancing down at their slightly roughened surface. “It stands to reason that… people should maintain their humanity when they so fervently preach about God and His will, yet…”she trailed off, premature lines deepening on her brow as she swallowed, “they are so unbelievably quick to leap drastically to conclusions, drawing them before a fair assessment can be made. And it leads to _so much hurt_! Their abrasive, heedless judgements lead them to do unthinkable deeds like the unprompted harassment of a child.”

Her former teacher’s brows scrunched together. “Anne…” she murmured, leaning across to lay her hand across the younger woman’s.

“I’m fine”, she sniffed, smiling reassuringly, “Truly. I’m just… _angry._ So angry. I just _wish_ I knew what do for these people. Something to just… curb, or at the very least buffer their turmoil at the hands of those too blind to look beyond colour. Because it seems no matter which ever way I think I may approach it, something always seems to just provide me reason as to why it’s a superficial possibility and completely out of reach. I-I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Muriel looked at her critically a moment longer, grey eyes combing over her every feature as her hand rubbed against the younger woman’s comfortingly. “In my experience… you can stem to achieve more as a collective, rather than a singular. If one tries to take on the world by one’s self, it can end in little acquisition and much needless heartbreak for the singular being. Humans are very social creatures, and always work better in groups; a lone caribou presents a mere moment of threat, but an entire herd creates an unstoppable stampede.”

At Anne’s quizzical look, she released a chuckling breath before pausing, opening her mouth once more to say, “You have incredible ideas, Anne. Ideas and an outlook on life that I hope, one day, transcends to the rest of humanity All you have to do is express them to people in a way that lets them know you’re a fighter for all. Does that make sense?”

In truth, it was still a fair bit vague, but it was certainly enough to spark Anne’s ravenous brain into action. She nodded solemnly, looking at the older woman with thoughtful eyes. “I… I suppose so.”

Muriel returned a tight-lipped smile, pulling her hand back as she sighed deeply. There was a palpable pause in conversation before she glanced up at her again, grey eyes sparkling. “Do you have any particular time set to be home?”

“No, not really. Just before sundown.”

“Perfect”, she grinned. “Well… how’s about we bring Sebastian in and together, the three of us can go over what you’ve got constructed thus far, and see what else more our three brilliant minds can accomplish when working in tandem?”

A weight slid off of Anne’s shoulders, and she looked at her former teacher with a tired smile. “I would appreciate that more than words can ever express, Muriel.”

And so, for the next four hours, the trio went between labouring over notes, raiding Muriel’s extensive library, catching up over cups of scrumptious tea, sharing anecdotes and wisdom through personal experience, and compiling a constructive method of deliverable communication. At one point, Bash disappeared, only to come strolling out to flourish some blueberry muffins, courtesy of Hazel. They’d been sent primarily as a consolation for all the work Muriel had been doing with their smoker, but the ebullient woman had insisted she’d feel so much more satiated if they were shared. They’d picked up their scattered belongings and shifted to the porch outside, sitting on the small table and chairs as they thrived in the crisp late-afternoon air.

At one such point, Anne had been happily tearing a corner of the confectioner’s sugar-dusted snack when she saw Bash quite visibly shiver. It seemed his Trinidadian blood still ran warm, even after nearly two years in their northern part of the world. Muriel had tutted, fixing the bandana atop her head as she walked inside. Within a minute, she reappeared carrying a large, resplendent knitted blanket, entirely made up of different pictures and materials. With a roll of her eyes, she carefully dropped it onto Bash, muttering about ‘not rugging up enough for these cooler temperatures, silly man’. He smiled charmingly back, thanking her with a tip of an invisible hat upon his head. Anne bit her smiling lip at the exchange.

Later, long after Anne had ridden home to a fussing Marilla and entirely sweet Matthew, she found herself curled up in the warming embrace of her on gable room bed. Moonlight shone into her room, dancing in entrancing patterns on the branches of the Snow Queen just yonder her window. Her eyes were eagerly awake, looking outside at the dimly lit world, all while it slept peacefully. She smiled in spite of herself.

Tomorrow, she’d journey back to Charlottetown, where she would have piles upon piles of study material to work her way diligently through with exams looming around the corner. She would be surrounded by the buzz of a lively town, exciting in sporadic doses, but always keenly aware of how dearly she yearned for the earth-bound tranquillity of Green Gables. There would be much ado from the girls after her impromptu departure, and she subconsciously knew she’d be subject to their worried and scolding tones. And with a slight downturn of her lip, she remembered she’d be leading the charge on bringing about a great and sudden change for the welfare of the ill-treated souls of her kindred-spirited Mi’kmaq friends. It would be no easy task, but one that carried an utmost significance that she would never neglect as long as the sun rose into the sky.

However, as a single, white and illuminated flower fell from the tree outside, Anne took a steadying breath. Tomorrow would bring with it uncertainty, but as of this moment, she could have right now; the soothing present, the position of being wrapped in her own blankets, of being in her own room, of her own house, by only the light of the moon and the ambience of owls. She smiled softly, moaning low as she nestled down deeper into her covers, eyes slowly fluttering shut. Yes, tomorrow would be a whole new experience, but she would always have these little moments, and as she fell away to slumberland, she dreamed of sun-shining rolling hills, warm skies that left her slightly drowsy as she laid against an even more warm chest. A rhythmic, deep voice vibrated against her back, lulling her to sleep as they spoke the words of Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, strong arms circling around her frame, holding her close and impossibly tender. That vision, that _feeling_ , accompanied her as she drifted off into oblivion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Petunia the flower of Resentment, Anger, 'Your Presence Soothes Me'_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -(loose) TRANSLATION-  
> A: Kitpu, what's going on?  
> A: Kitpu... I'm here, Anne. Your friend of a different skin. I'm here to help you.  
> K: M-my... I'm trying to find my big sister. I want to bring her home. And mum, and dad, I... I miss our family.  
> A: Nova Scotia, the island across the water - they were there. Kitpu... how far have you walked?  
> K: As far as the days are long... The village is in fear for their safety. Winter is coming... the three of them are alone... my little sister and I are really scared for them.  
> A: It won't be long before your paths meet again... I hope for you.  
> K: We're diminishing in number! Each day, there are more children taken away to school! Ka'kwet, she had this incredible strength and then when she came back, she was different... wounded. I blame the white people.  
> A: Kitpu, run! Quickly, run home!
> 
> WOW SO A LOT HAPPENED HERE HUH. hopefully you guys enjoyed this chapter! (i think you'll be pretty happy with the next one hehe)
> 
> As always, I love and adore all appreciation and comments you guys leave, they mean the absolute world to me and actually inspire me to keep writing <3 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: Someone comes aknockin at the boarding house, and anne is shook. mixture of heavy fluff and angst ensues


	6. Marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls are busy preparing for upcoming assessments, when a surprise visitor comes a'knocking on the door. However, things are not all that they appear, and tensions rise amongst the fervent feelings of passion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY F*CK - um this is by far the largest chapter of any fic ive EVER written. 16k words to be precise. yikes  
> y'all are either gonna love me or hate me for this one, so hang onto your tissues.  
> enjoy!!

A groan sounded across the table, and Anne glanced up to see Jane’s head flopping against the wooden surface, light brown hair fanning out around her head in messy curls. The redhead rolled her eyes, leaning across to move a strand that had strayed particularly close to her ink well. Diana snorted beside her, eyes not leaving her music notes as she worked tirelessly on her composition, dark eyes sparkling in an energetic way that the others appeared to be lacking. Exams were only a few short weeks away, and the stress was beginning to weigh heavily on the young women.

“Which part are you stuck on, Jane?” Tillie asked, looking up briefly from where she’d been doodling a heart.

“All of it?” she groaned back in a muffled voice, arms coming up to encase her head. “I absolutely _loathe_ essay writing, and this monstrosity of the Rebellions of 1837–1838 is going to make my head implode. I don’t know how I should structure it, what my argument should be… I just don’t even know where to start... Can’t I please just work on some mathematics and come back to this later?”

“No”, the stern, but understanding voice of Prissy Andrews said from behind her, tapping her on the head as she walked around, “the more you prolong the inevitable, the more damaging and destabilising it’ll be once it hits. Just pick your head up, put your pen to paper and start writing.”

The younger sister groaned once more, sitting up to pout at her impudently. The blonde simply quirked a brow and continued her graceful walk around.

Initially, Josie had brought along the older girl to assist her with her economic studies, fretting over small ministrations and queries, desperate to ensure she had everything down to the dot. However, once she’d arrived that Saturday mid-morning and seen the complete and utter disarray of the study group, she’d taken charge and stepped into the shoes of tutelage, providing aid and assistance to all the younger women. Anne was particularly grateful for her calm, authoritative demeanour that seemed to just command attention wherever she walked, and it provided her a great solace that she didn’t have to neglect her own tumultuous studies to tutor her peers. It allowed her to mull over the great and horrifying hurdle that was quadratic equations.

Lily had been equally providential throughout the course of the day, in bringing the girls snacks and whole kettles of coffee to stimulate them into further action. Whilst Mrs Blackmore had been running around the scope of the house, doing her weekly inspection to ensure things were maintained to her standard of living, the younger helping hand had been racing non-stop, even pausing to assist Ruby in a few words she’d had trouble in spelling.

Diana and Anne had shared a worried glance as the young golden-haired girl poured her fifth cup, hands shaking as her eyes flickered wildly, sculling it down like a shot of moonshine. Last night, the most innocent and sweet of their group had been caught by Josie sneaking back into house well and truly after curfew, face blushing above a neck wrapped in Moody’s scarf. There’d been much of a kerfuffle about the salacious matter, and Josie had been prompt to make the others well-known of just what events had transpired. As a result, they’d all lost at least two hours sleep to excitable gossip, and Ruby even more so. Such sleeping patterns had left them drowsy, with lidded eyes and heavy bags hanging beneath them. Anne had a particularly painful crick in her neck from falling asleep in a rather odd position as she read over Gilbert’s most recent and ardently warming letter. The fact that she was unable to fully turn her neck to the right was decidedly worth it for the heavenly dream that had left her sleeping form a smiling puddle of emotion.

Regardless, she winced as her hand massaged against the muscle; a rather fruitless exercise as the hard skin was continually painful to the touch. Hunching her back over her ceaseless notes certainly wasn’t helping. Normally, schoolwork enthralled her, body and soul. However, she was now realising that her decision to opt for the accelerated program at college was, indeed, rather accelerated. It was becoming ever more transparently clear as to why cramming two years’ worth of study and assessment into one was a decidedly unpopular option. Nevertheless, she persisted.

“You alright there, Anne?”

She looked up blearily through auburn lashes to see Prissy standing beside her, chocolate eyes staring down at her in concern. The oldest Andrews child had really grown into herself in the years that Anne had come to know her; from a frivolous, flirtatious young thing entirely willing to stick with the status quo, to a proud, self-assured woman that walked with all the dignity and elegance of a proper lady, but also the strength of a woman not content to live her life to anything but its absolute fullest. Anne held the utmost respect for her.

“Oh”, she said blindly, arching her back in a yawn, “I’m just a bit sore. Slept oddly, and all.”

She hummed appreciatively. “Ah, yes… the turbulence of college nights. I’m all too familiar. Sleep on your back tonight and you should be right as rain within a couple of days.”

“Thank you”, Anne sighed, glancing back down at a particular troubling equation, before deciding to do the exact opposite of what Prissy had warned her sister not to do. Placing her fountain pen down, she shuffled in her chair and turned to face the older girl. “So, Prissy, as a remarkable, well-versed graduate of college, what’re your plans now?”

Her question seemed to attract the attentions of others, and she watched from her periphery as Josie looked up, intrigued. Jane barely contained her preemptive scoff. Prissy sighed, glancing down at her hands as they fiddled together in front of her skirt. “Well… for a while, I was rather uncertain, and believed that my primary goal in life was to marry well. However, college for me was a real eye-opening experience, and it made me realise that there is just so much more to a woman than just her beauty and ability to bring children into the world. So, I decided, and Jane knows well enough of this, that I wished to… to take my dowry as my own; not to have it be bestowed on my possible future husband.”

“That’s ever so brave of you”, Diana murmured, completely enraptured now. “How did you parents respond?”

“Not well”, Jane scoffed mockingly, eyebrows shooting up beyond her hairline as she glanced down at a freshly written sentence.

Prissy sighed, pulling up a chair to lower herself onto. “Yes, as my darling sister so bluntly put it… not well. Mother was… more accepting of my proposition, but my father was less than serious about the matter. Billy thought I had rather lost my senses, when, in actuality, it was probably the most thought-out, comprehensive idea I’d ever personally come up with.”

“That’s men for you”, Josie huffed, sharing a knowing glance with the woman who’d become a surprising ally.

“Indeed”, she replied. “Unsurprisingly, Father refused – quite adamantly, I might add – and so, I’ve been searching for another means to make my own way in the world. It’s been conclusion that Europe is currently a providential location for young, independent-minded women such as myself, as many are attempting to enter the business world of men, and it’s become an ambition to relocate myself there.”

“You’re doing _what_?!” Jane suddenly screeched, leaping to her feet as she stared down her sister. “Have you completely lost it? How on earth are you going to fund the trip, the accommodation, all the insane living expenses?”

Prissy rolled her eyes in a somehow elegant fashion, looking at her sister in complete exasperation. “Believe it or not, I have actually quite the possible plan in mind, Jane. I’ve been conducting extensive research into the most accessible places for women of my class and upbringing, as well as abilities. There’s a scholarship option for those pursuing a career in economics at several universities across the continent, which is something I’ve become quite passionate for. And better yet, in some countries, such as Germany and France, they’re actually rather progressive in allowing a select number of women into that particular subject. I’m just praying that with my lineage and upbringing, I’ll have a good shot at getting in to one of them.”

“As for accommodation and whatnot,” she paused turning to face an awestruck Anne, “You’re probably not aware, but at the country fair barn dance all those months ago, I became acquainted with Winifred Rose.”

“No way.”

“Winifred?! _Gilbert’s_ Winifred?!”

The name sounded previously utilised alarm bells in Anne’s mind, but she shook them away to gape back. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not”, she grinned, rouge bottom lip getting caught in her teeth. “Gilbert had been off to fetch some punch, and we’d just struck up a conversation. She was informing me of her dreams to be a nurse, how much she longed to be able to be on the other side of the doctor’s surgery. We both felt a connection, a camaraderie to one another, and we became… pen pals, of sort", she said, with a soft fondness in her eye.

“Anyway, I know you’re aware of her relocation to Paris”, she said knowingly as Anne tensed a fraction, “but the distance hasn't deterred us from ending the pen pal-manship, and after I recently confirmed with her my aspirations, Winnie assured me that, should I end up in Paris, I’m more than welcome to seek accommodation with her at her Parisian villa.”

“Parisian villa, oh my goodness!” All the girls gasped and squealed in excited surprise, looking at each other and Prissy with wide eyes and mouths. Anne glanced over to Jane, who’d been unusually quiet, and saw her friend’s brows furrowed in quiet concentration, seemingly at conflict within herself. Her eyes flickered over to her beaming older sister, lips pursing as she did so. Anne would seek to talk to and console her later, she decided as her lips thinned into a line before turning back to Prissy.

“That’s so exciting, Prissy!” the redhead exclaimed fervently, grabbing her hands in earnest. “So, one of your choices must be the Sorbonne.”

She smiled openly. “Yes, along with _Université de Lille_ , though I’d most likely have to board as it’s still over an hour by train to Paris. Both are paramount researchers of the study of economics, and I’d be honoured to attend either, but the Sorbonne is definitely the highest contender.”

Her expression hardened slightly, and Anne became acutely aware of the years between them. “Anne… I know you mustn’t think too highly of Winnie, and it’s understandable given the history regarding the two of you and Gilbert, but you must understand; if it weren’t for her, I would never even possess the gumption to consider travelling trans-Atlantic. She’s an incredibly thoughtful, wise and caring person, and I hold an immense deal of respect for her.”

“Oh, no, Prissy”, she quickly injected as the girls began to settle once more, taking the time to squeeze the blonde’s hands reassuringly before letting go, “you mustn’t fret. I’ll admit… jealousy turned me into someone I’m not entirely proud of, and it clouded my judgement of her at times, but from the few conversations we had, I knew _exactly_ why Gilbert took interest in her. I mean, who wouldn’t?” she laughed, surprised at how easy it was to do so. “I actually believe that if things were maybe different; in a different timeline, in another life, we could’ve gotten along famously. And I am so glad to hear that she has a friend like you in her life. You two seem like you’d be kindred spirits if ever there some, which I strongly believe there are.”

The young woman smiled softly at that, head cocking slightly as she nodded. She patted Anne’s shoulder, thumb brushing over the white blouse before turning toward Josie’s raised hand. The redhead watched as Prissy leaned over the younger blonde, ringlets dropping like elegant, twisted vines around her face as she pointed toward particular words and numbers in the textbook. Heaving a contented sigh, she’d just begun to sit when a knock upon the front door stopped her in her tracks. Her brows furrowed and she glanced around at the others, even more so perplexed as to see their own confused expressions. It was a Saturday, very nearly two p.m. but none of them had arranged to meet with any of their suitors.

At that moment, Lily came swiftly through the kitchen and passed the girls, signing to Anne that she’d answer the door and the rest of them could continue studying. The redhead in smiled in response, sitting down and pulling out her fountain pen once more, tapping the end of it against her bottom lip as she glared at the a’s and b’s and c’s that refused to be coherent to her. Damned quadratic equations, she thought with a growl, drowning out all distractions as she put her entire energy into trying to make sense of the questions before her.

Not a minute later, Lily came bustling through again, and Anne glanced up to see a quiet, knowing smile on her face. To what she knew, Anne hadn’t the first clue. The brunette’s gaze flickered to the door once more, brows quirking up at whoever was beyond the mahogany frame, before glancing back at the young redhead with a _smirk_. Anne wondered if she’d ever seen the lovely young servant-girl smirk so mischievously. She shook her head in confusion at her, raising her hands up in a ‘what’ gesture. Then, finally, she watched as the girl began to sign, ‘ _it’s for you. I’d suggest going quickly before the others catch on or Mrs Blackmore sees you_ ’. Anne suddenly became very pleased that she was the sole person of her friendship circle who knew how to decipher the silent language.

Clearing her throat surreptitiously, she rose from her chair and made a show of stretching. “Excuse me a moment, ladies; just going to relieve myself. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay”, Josie casually muttered back, eyes glued to the pages. “Let us know who’s at the front when you go past.”

“I, uh… sure”, she said, walking backwards toward the hallway. Diana’s eye came up to meet hers, gaze narrowed suspiciously. Anne shook her head unknowing back at her, mouthing ‘I don’t know. Honest’. She gave one last uneasy smile before wheeling around the corner, coming to face the opened front door, and pulling up short, completely and utterly frozen. Her eyes widened impossibly large, drinking in the person before her; her mouth working, scrabbling for words but to no avail. It felt like time had stopped in a wonderful moment of starstruck, disbelieving reverence.

“Anne”, the man breathed out, like a silent prayer to the wind. Like her name was the most sacred thing in existence. If she heard him say it like that every time, she might very well just start believing it.

“You’re…”, she choked out, swallowing thickly as she dared to take a step forward, “You’re here.”

He dipped his head, shuffling nervously on his feet. “I… Yeah, I-I… sorry, I should have told you I’d been planning a trip but I, uh… wanted to surprise you”, he murmured so she could just hear barely hear it as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, a small smile adorning his face.

It was as though saying the words suddenly kick-started her heart, spurring her mind into action and she took a step forward, and then another, and another, until she was face to face with those impossibly deep hazel eyes that had consumed her dreams for months. His eyes flittered nervously between her own, and she suddenly, strikingly remembered when they’d last been this close to each other, only just down the steps from where they now stood. Taking a deep breath, she raised a hand up to cup his cheek in the very same fashion he had done her in early September. At the contact, he uttered the smallest gasp, his tense face suddenly rising to its corners, expressive eyebrows climbing up into those delicious dark curls. And then, Anne smiled.

He exhaled sharply, eyes lighting up in soft elation and lips curving into one of his rarest, most beautiful, most _blinding_ smiles. Then he leaned further into her touch, almost nestling into it, and Anne thought her heart might just burst. They chuckled in nervous excitement, eyes never leaving each other’s.

“Hi”, she breathed softly, biting her lip as a subtle confidence began to flow off him in low ripples.

“Hi”, he murmured back, closing the distance between them to rest his forehead against hers, and Anne shivered at the way she _felt_ the word glide across her lips in a hot breath.

“Hi!” a chorus of voices suddenly shocked them back to Earth, and their heads collided in a painful jolt as they leapt away from one another. Anne winced through the egg forming on her to look at all five of her housemates, _plus Prissy_ , looking at the couple with wild grins plastered on their faces. Lily was merely raising an eyebrow at them, eyes sparkling in rascality. The redhead groaned through an embarrassed laugh, feeling her face turn the same colour as her done-up hair. Peeping out of the corner of her eye, it brought her a small respite to see that Gilbert wasn’t faring much better.

Tillie was the first to step forward, hands clasped behind her back as her mouth twisted in a cheeky upturn. “Mr Blythe, how is it you find yourself at our doorstep during suitor visiting hours, and what exactly is your intention with our Anne?”

The giggles that erupted from the comment brought the ever-increasing blush up past her cheekbones and across Anne’s ears, leaving her feeling like an odd combination of a carrot and tomato. She wanted nothing more than to just slam the door shut and drag Gilbert off to some private, hidden alcove where they could just exist away from the world. However, she was also rather interested in seeing just how he went about answering Tillie’s blatant teasing.

Turning her eyes toward the cornered young man, she watched as his jaw worked and clenched, then cleared his throat before saying in the most forcibly calm voice, “Well, I… I left yesterday after classes, got on a train to Port Elgin in New Brunswick and then… caught the steamer over. As for the _why_ I’m here”, he trailed off, glancing across at the fiery young woman with soft, yet teasing eyes that had her _melting_ , “I was hoping that I may be able to steal Anne away from her books for a moment or two.”

“No need to steal; just take her!” Ruby burst suddenly, looking between the two with an excitement she hardly even attempted to conceal.

“You’re more than welcome to.”

“ _Please_ ; if I have to listen to her droning on about Jane Eyre anymore, I may just spontaneously combust.”

“Do maintain some propriety, though, and don’t go deflowering our girl!”

“Oh my God”, Anne groaned, burying her face in her hands to escape the rapid heat overruling all other bodily functions. Her head snapped up at the sound of Gilbert Blythe having the undeniable audacity to quietly snicker. She withheld herself from rounding on him in a passionate fury, choosing instead to meet his gleeful eyes with murderous glare. Oh, he would suffer the consequences for his actions later; she’d make sure of it.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, would you care to introduce your… _guest_?”

All the girls went stone cold silent at the chilling sound of Mrs Blackmore’s passive aggressive tone, and Anne watched in horror as she glided down the stairs, the smile on her face entirely too disingenuous.

She chuckled nervously, glancing toward Gilbert before looking at the boarding mistress with a deceptively innocent expression as she neared them. “Mrs Blackmore, allow me to introduce you to Gilbert Blythe, my… former classmate and family friend. Gilbert, this is Mrs Blackmore: she’s very graciously lent us girls her wondrously exquisite establishment.”

She didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes subtly in her direction before smiling eagerly, extending his hand as he leaned over the threshold. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Blackmore.”

“Quite, Mr Blythe”, the old woman replied, tone blatantly revealing her unimpressed stance. She took his hand daintily, not so much shaking it as more so lifted it up and down like a paintbrush. Letting go, Gilbert cleared his throat, reclaiming his place beside Anne almost timidly as he actively avoided meeting the woman’s critical eye.

She heaved a sigh, turning her attention to Anne and asking in an entirely superficial tone, “So, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, what are your plans with Mr Blythe today on this… early Saturday afternoon?”

Anne’s eyes widened comically, and she held herself back from directing a panicked expression toward Gilbert, taking a deep breath and she said with a large smile, “You know, it is quite funny you should ask that, Mrs Blackmore, because Gilbert and I are… are…”

She swallowed thick as the woman’s eerie smile grew even more so, her knowing stare feeling like pinpricks on her skin. Her mouth went into a dramatic, flustered steamroll, and her hand flew to grasp the man’s arm beside her. “Gilbert has come to give me some much-needed tutelage in mathematics. It’s _easily_ my worst subject as an English major, you see, and Gilbert here is positively proficient in all things geometry, algebra, calculus – all the works. Very charitably, he has agreed to assist me in maintaining a high enough grade point average to continuing working toward the Avery scholarship.”

“Oh”, the older woman chimed, leaning back in staged surprise, “Well, isn’t that just beneficent of Mr Blythe. We must, of course, invite the dear man in then, and he can join in with the rest of your study group.”

“No!” Anne exclaimed, her free hand coming up in a halting gesture. Realising the melodramatic and rather obvious nature of her outburst, she reeled herself back in, straightening her back proudly as she brushed a ringlet away from her face. “I-I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Mrs Blackmore, as Gilbert has told me of specific books we must source at the college library. Isn’t that right, Gilbert?” she turned to him, urging him to play along with the subtlest intensity of her eyes.

He looked at her in perplex for only a fraction of a second before something sparked in his hazel orbs, and he turned to the boarding mistress with charming sincerity. “Yes, that is correct. Very incredibly specific books on geometry. Only at the college library, I’m afraid.”

Anne, Gilbert, and the onlooking girls waited with bated breath as Mrs Blackmore appeared to mull over their words with a low hum. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she brought her hands to the front of her dress and clasped them. “Very well… enjoy your afternoon.”

The young couple had barely turned to each other with grinning faces before she spoke again. “Miss Barry, would you care to chaperone Mr Blythe and Miss Shirley-Cuthbert to the library?”

Diana stopped short, mouth stuttering silently as she looked between her bosom friend, her suitor, and the intimidating old woman. “I… Surely that isn’t necessary, Mrs Blackmore? Both Anne and Gilbert are _very_ responsible, which any of us can attest to, and they’re simply going to get some books.”

“I’m afraid I must _insist_ , Miss Barry”, she said calmly, a smile clear on her features.

The raven-haired girl seemed to flounder for a moment before finally relenting, sparing the duo outside an apologetic look. “I’ll just retrieve mine and Anne’s parasols.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Barry”, Mrs Blackmore said with a nod of her head, then promptly turned to the others as Diana skirted away. “The rest of you still have a mountain of study to conquer, and not a minute to waste of Miss Andrew’s precious time. Back to work, scholars.”

Collectively groaning, the girls reluctantly began to trudge back into the dining room, all of them sneaking Anne and Gilbert one last surreptitious glance. Gilbert balked beside her as Josie had the temerity to wiggle an eyebrow at them. With a final flash of colourful fabric, the girls disappeared, and at long last, the young, flourishing couple were alone.

Except for Mrs Blackmore and her permanently plastered-on paper mâché smile.

Her scrutinizing gaze shifted over the pair, and Anne resolutely made to not look in Gilbert’s direction for fear that the lovesickness present in her heart would become visible in her eyes. She trained her eyes onto her dainty boots peeping out of her skirt, locking herself into place when she heard the man beside her try to clear his throat as silently as possible. The tension in the air was absolutely palpable, and as Anne and Gilbert felt the magnetic pull towards each other, Diana couldn’t come soon enough.

In that moment, the young lady came bustling through the hallway, smiling obligingly at Mrs Blackmore as she moved past her. “Alright, Mrs Blackmore, I can assure you that I will watch diligently over these two, and we will return back to the house… before long.”

In hushed tones, Diana ushered the couple down the stairs and along the pathway, none of them daring to glance back so long as they were in the old woman’s line of vision. It was only once they had passed through the wrought iron gate that they paused, taking deep breaths as they glanced back in a moment of relief. Turning back to face each other, they burst into a small round of chuckles, shaking their heads as they reflected on their desperate, childish escape.

Anne sighed, wiping the tears from under her smiling eyes. “That was quite easily the single most harrowingly embarrassing experience of my _life_.”

“Really?” Diana quirked a brow at her, lips pursing in disbelief. “I can think of several other instances that could rival it.”

Gilbert snorted as Anne gasped, reaching across to smack her bosom friend playfully across the arm. He hummed, and the two girls turned to face him as he frowned at Anne in mirthful seriousness. “Diana’s not alone in that line of thought.”

The two dark-haired teenagers guffawed as Anne’s eyes widened in horror and betrayal, looking between the unlikely team that had seemed to pit themselves against her. With a humph, she stuck her chin in the air, looking at them with disapproving eyes. “You’re both equally insufferable. How in God’s name am I supposed to survive the next indefinite length of time with you two _taunting_ me ceaselessly and relentlessly?”

“Oh!” Diana suddenly exclaimed, busying herself with passing on Anne’s white and blue parasol as she continued rambling, “Actually, I believe you’ll only have to suffer through Gilbert’s taunt-filled company, as I just recalled I have some… urgent business with… the band, yes, the band, to attend to. I’m very sorry to have to leave you two”, she urged with a hidden wickedness, “but I trust you shall both manage without a chaperone?”

Oh, Diana was an absolute sly devilish minx, and as Anne’s nerves spiked in realisation of the gift that her bosom friend was bestowing on her, she knew she’d have to thank her to an astronomical degree. With a voice pitched far higher than her own as an anxious excitement built in her chest, she replied, “Yes. Uh, y-yes, we’ll be fine.”

Beside her, Gilbert cleared his throat as he shifted. “Uh, yes, more… more than fine.”

In that moment, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, in an impossibly heavy gaze with the subtlest of shy smiles. Despite the crisp late-October air, Anne suddenly felt very, _insanely_ hot.

“Perfect”, Diana punctuated, drawing the redhead back into her present situation. With dainty fingers, the raven-haired beauty brushed her pluperfect curls back off her face and gave them one last shrewd look. “I’ll see you the two of you here again just before four o’clock, then?”

After a surreptitious glance at Gilbert’s proud physique and splendid chin, Anne turned to the other girl with a wily expression and a wink from the eye blind to the young man. “Perhaps just _after_ four.”

Diana’s dark eyes sparkled impishly, bowing her head as she began to walk off. “Very well, then. If that’s that, I suppose I’ll be off now. Have a great time getting reacquainted, you two.”

The young woman marched off, ringlets bouncing lightly as she became evermore further from the young, nervous couple, until it was just the two of them.

No interruptions.

No one else around to distract.

Just Anne and Gilbert. Gilbert and Anne. Kindred spirits finally together.

And that _terrified_ Anne.

With their initial prodigious reunion already out the way, and with it, the escalated emotions felt by two people so helplessly in love, now came the reality of it being such a new and uncharted relationship. Both equally wary to not put their foot in it so soon into something so delicate, yet fervently desired by the two of them.

Wringing her hands and squeezing the occasional pinch against her soft and supple skin, Anne turned to Gilbert with masked anticipation, glancing up at him with deep ocean eyes, lashes and heart fluttering to see him glancing back down at her with similar mannerisms. Her vision flickered down at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing, and with stubborn resolution, she tore it back up to see his hand raised to the back of his neck, scratching it half-heartedly. With a sigh, Anne recognised it as his nervous habit. Their letters had been so courageous and ardent in announcing their affections for one another, but there was a whole different terrain to be discovered in each other’s physical presence. They were equally unsure of this new territory, and so, with a shaky hand, the young woman reached up to take his busied hand in her own. Yes, she was Anne, and yes, he was without a sliver of doubt Gilbert, and every encounter of theirs held a distinct profoundness. But at the end of the day, she was _just_ Anne, and he was _just_ Gilbert. Two souls who came together like apple and cinnamon, and just melded together in perfect synchronisation. They hadn’t anything to fear.

Immediately, Gilbert dropped all walls and pretences, standing before Anne as she slowly moved to bring his hand down, taking it warmly between her own two gloved ones. He stood stock-still, lips parting as he looked down at her smiling face, eyes flickering between her own with unmasked wonder in them. Slowly, but surely, he took a breath and smiled back at her, the shadow of crinkling lines outside of his bottomless hazel orbs. He turned so that they were facing the same way, offering a crooked arm to her with an equally crooked smirk. “Shall we?”

With a silent chuckle, Anne bit her grinning lip, sliding her arm to perfectly coincide within his looped one. Looking up at him to see stars in his eyes, she nodded. “We most certainly shall.”

* * *

It wasn’t before long that the young couple fell back into their usual easy companionship, chuckling as they strolled aimlessly down the avenues of Charlottetown, not paying a cent of mind to those around them. Gilbert had rested his other hand atop her own as it lay nestled in his arm, sending a thrill down Anne’s spine. They were constantly bumping shoulders; occasionally on accident, sometimes rather deliberate and of a rather playful manner, and usually ended with one of them tightening their grip on the other as not to lose balance. The conversation was as easy and carefree as a rolling river, and they were constantly sneaking glances at one another, neither quite believing that the other was real and actually theirs.

“Okay, let me see… grandiloquent. I’ll give you a tip – _there’s an ‘e’_.”

“One time! I’m never living that down, am I?” Anne laughed as the man on her arm groaned, shaking his head as he looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Alright… G-R-A-N-D-I-L-O-Q-U- _E_ … N-T. Grandiloquent.”

“Well done.”

“Do I get a prize?” he asked, leaning toward her a smirk.

“Yes”, Anne replied, watching in delight as his eyes lit up before saying, “the ephemeral state of academic satisfaction.”

“I suppose it’ll do”, he sighed. “Your turn – spell ‘tenacious’.”

“Too easy”, she answered with a roll of her eyes. “T-E-N-A-C-I-O-U-S. Tenacious”, she stated with a jubilant air.

“Nicely done, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert”, he grinned, looking at her with elevated pride.

The sparkle in her blue eyes was mirrored in his hazel. “Oh, why, thank you ever so kindly, Mr Blythe. Now, spell ‘gargoyle’ for me.”

Gilbert made a ‘pfft’ sound from his lips, and Anne watched as his warm breath mingled with the cool air and drifted upward on the wind. “You know, my win won’t count if it’s not fair and square. Nevertheless… G-A-R-G-O-Y-L-E. Gargoyle…” he trailed off, looking at her guilefully. “Is this of any relation to your terrifying boarding mistress?”

“Gilbert!” she exclaimed, slapping her free hand over his smirking mouth. “Hush, she’ll hear you! That woman has ears of a _bat_ , I tell you.”

She felt his smile broadening beneath her hand, and fairly soon after, the guise of her panicked frustration gave way to laughter as they leaned on one another in breathless fits. Their seamless banter continued in such a fashion, making intelligent quips at each other as they continued their destination-less walk. The subject of college life came up, and while they discussed topics on classes, teachers, events and friends, Anne actively strayed away from bringing up her fight for the First Nations. Gilbert had already proven he was an immense help in letters regarding the matter, and if truly need be, they could discuss it later. He was only here for a flicker in time, and she was going to make sure that they made the most of what they had.

“And then, I… oh gosh”, she trailed off, burying her face into her free hand, “this is just too embarrassing.”

“Well then, I _definitely_ have to hear it”, Gilbert smirked beside her, nudging her gently. He chuckled as she shot him a deafening glare.

Sighing, she plucked up every ounce of dignity still remaining and lifted her face, strong pride in her eyes that was _largely_ faked. “Well, you should know firstly that this wasn’t _my_ idea. I’d have never done something so foolish and fearlessly stupid on my own accord… You see… Josie had the unfathomable _gall_ to dare me to climb atop the boarding house roof. As I am not one to back down from any action, I did so… and, well… slipped”, she said, turning to him with a raised brow.

He blinked, concern forming on his face as his eyes suddenly intensified, and he began to scan over her in a way that had Anne barely keeping her blood pressure stable. “What?! Anne, you didn’t do something so daft, did you? Are you alright?”

“I’m _fine_ , Gilbert”, she assured, smiling at him ever-so sweetly, reaching her hand up toward his jaw, bringing his gaze back into hers. She raised her brows at him, lip curving into a wee smirk. “ _Really_. I managed to fall quite fortuitously into a nearby spruce. Only a few dismissible scratches and bruises. And don’t worry; I went to Dr Ward to be _extra_ certain that there weren’t any other inconveniences I’d missed. Furthermore, it was only Lily watching guard over us that night, and as she was in the house and unable to hear my misdeed, she was blissfully unaware that there was any such scandal in the first place.”

The concern formed into disbelieving adoration, and he shook his head, chuckling wryly. “Only you, Carrots. Only you.”

“ _Don’t_.”

“Don’t what?”

Her gaze narrowed dangerously at his falsely clueless face. “You know _exactly_ what I’m referring to, Gilbert Blythe. You’re being positively heathenish, and you blatantly know it.”

He smiled deceptively sweet back. “I’m afraid to say I’m not. Carrots are my favourite things. They are the name of a nutritious and vitamin-C rich vegetable. Also happens to be the moniker of a _strikingly_ beautiful and vivacious young woman. I can’t possibly see the error in my words; care to enlighten me?”

“You know you’re just _asking_ for another slate to the head, _Gil_?” she emphasized, looking at him in a sly smirk.

His face screwed up at that, head cocking back as he looked at her in incredulity. “Did— did you just refer to me as a… fish’s _breathing_ apparatus?”

“Maybe”, she said, daring to wink at the poor, unsuspecting boy. The light pink that dusted his cheeks as a result was entirely worth her bold action. She chuckled at his expense, turning her attention back to their surroundings, eyeing off the incredible colours of the tree-lined street.

“Autumn’s just the most wondrous phenomenon, isn’t it?” she murmured, glancing up at two maple leaves glided down the breeze, twisting around one another in perfect harmony.

Gilbert hummed in response, subconsciously pulling her closer as they manoeuvred around a portentous puddle. Anne sighed in appreciation, gently resting her head against the soft charcoal jacket on his shoulder, eyes half-lidding as she continued to watch the afternoon pass around them. After a moment, she felt Gilbert turn his head toward her, nestling his face into her hair as he breathed in deeply through his nose, then shifted carefully to rest the cusp of his jaw gently against her head. Their linked arms tightened simultaneously, pulling their sides flush against one another in peaceful serenity. Equally hammering and excitable hearts within their chests relaxed in the simplicity of their silence. The already aimless stroll slowed even more so, and they stepped delicately along the footpath, watching blissfully as a pair of blue jays flew above them, calling to one another as they moved in an eternal dance. Anne’s eyes fluttered close, fully trusting the young man beside her to guide her along and keep her from harm’s way, without even the smallest of doubts. She’d follow him no matter where.

“I’ve missed you”, she breathed from the crook of his neck, soaking up his warm, earthy smell that had followed him all the way to Toronto.

She felt his shoulders rise with a breath, head moving atop hers as it craned to look at her, carefully pivoting as if it detested the idea of not touching her. As he spoke, there was a quiet desperation in his husky, low tone. “I’ve missed you, too. Every single minute.”

Moving her eyes around, her head followed until she could gaze adoringly into his, hoping to convey every perpetual emotion she felt for him. He smiled so sweetly and secretly back that something within her chest constricted around her heart, then snapped into a thousand little butterflies that dispersed to every last inch of her body. Hooded hazel eyes flickered between her own, and her breath stuttered as he leaned slightly forward to press gentle lips against her temple. The action halted their walk, and Anne relished in every millisecond that the tender gesture lasted. She quietly whimpered beneath her breath when he pulled away, glancing back at her with such a fervent intensity that Anne disentangled from his protesting form, only to wrap her arms around his lithe torso, burying her head into his chest.

A hum rumbled from her as he reciprocated, strong forearms resting across her shoulders as he pulled her into him. The embrace lingered in the fleeting October sky, completely ignorant to the passer-byers as they existed in their own little world for a few more seconds. Perhaps seconds, minutes, or several sunlit days passed before they pulled apart, looking at each other with smiling faces before settling back into their previous arm-in-arm rhythm.

Anne turned to him excitedly. “Tell me more about Toronto. I want to hear to all about this marvellous Dr Emily Oak and your medicinal studies, and of your deplorable flatmate, Richard. And this barmaid… _Christine_ ”, she cringed, “that has been attempting to engage in a flirtatious relationship with you. And don’t skimp on any details.”

He released a chuckle, looking down at the ground, and Anne’s eyes were drawn downward on his features as he bit his lip. “Firstly, since I can evidently see that you’re quite vexed by Christine, I should tell you about how I’ve raved about how… lively and vivacious the girl of my life is, and how completely undeterred she is by the prospect of inflicting serious damage when it’s justified. I’ve made _extra_ special note of making sure that I nonchalantly drop dimes like that whenever Christine ventures too close. She’s a lovely enough, but… well, she’s a brunette. And _far_ too flighty”, he said with a frown, sharing in Anne’s flickering smile. “Redheaded women who knock others off their feet as they stand proudly on their own are _much_ more my speed.”

Following Anne’s chuckle and her pulling closer to him, Gilbert continued. “In regards to… well, everything else… Dr Oak is just _incredible_. She’s not only an incredible professor who has this… _presence_ when she walks into a room; every single voice is silenced, and she commands total respect of her students and peers; but she’s also one of the first female licensed physicians in Canada, and – and you’ll appreciate this as much I do – she’s a leading voice in suffrage and women’s rights. She doesn’t care for naysayers, about her gender or her beliefs, and she’s conducting ground-breaking research on antitoxins. With any luck, and great deal of work from her, they should become an integral part of every doctor’s medicine cabinet, and save a _lot_ of lives. On top of all that, she somehow manages a husband and children of her own. She’s my idol, my aspiration in life.”

Anne’s mouth widened in delighted awe, and she shook her head disbelieving. “Extraordinary… so women _can_ have it all. She is living proof! I would be… _unfathomably_ honoured to ever meet such a remarkable woman.”

“Hopefully, one day, you will”, he said with a quirk of his brows.

She smiled at that, hopeful eyes flickering to his. Humming, she looked back at the path before them. “And what of your classmates? You haven’t mentioned much about your new cosmopolitan friends; besides Richard, of course, who sounds like every bit a rascal that ever existed.”

Gilbert scoffed lightly, raising his brows in agreeable acknowledgement. He was silent for a moment, and the pause brought Anne’s vision around to focus on his working jaw and flickering eyes. “Uh”, he began, scratching behind his neck with his free hand, “well, there are… a few classmates I’d consider… amicable and fairly easy to get along with, but… Toronto’s a different sort of crowd. Haven’t made quite many relations that compare to the ones I have in Avonlea…” he murmured, half to himself. Then, he cleared his throat, and gave her a reassuring smile that didn’t quite crinkle his eyes. “That’s not to say I haven’t had some adrenaline-inducing adventures whilst there. And work at Donna’s Bakery on top of the Everest of study notes keeps me incredibly busy. The city certainly never sleeps.”

Anne’s eyebrows furrowed in concern at his evasive words, eyes searching his extensively. Contrastingly, he sighed with apparent untainted happiness, squaring his shoulders as he kept his vision on the horizon. It was transparently clear that he didn’t want the subject further broached, but Anne set aside that sombre look in his eyes for a later time.

The conversation lulled for a few spare minutes, into a comfortable silence as they just relished in one another’s company. They’d been walking along for some time now, down toward the promenade of Victoria Park, when they spotted a quaint little park bench facing the bay. Wordlessly, they moved toward it and sat down, situating themselves into comfortable positions that still allowed them to be within contact of each other; their looped arms, being the typical fashion in which a gentleman would be seen escorting his lady friend, was switched to a far more intimate hand-holding, squeezing one another in tender fervency. Seagulls flew high above their heads, nipping into the waters as they feasted on a school of sardines. Gilbert flicked his left wrist, and Anne glanced down to see him checking the time against a small, leather-strapped watch. Leaning over, she saw that it was thirty-past-three. With a sinking heart, Anne realised their limited time would draw to close soon. Far too soon.

“It really has been rather strange not seeing you every day in class”, Anne conversed with a twinge of bittersweet-ness.

Gilbert scoffed halfheartedly, glancing down at her with a raised brow. “Not enough academic competition to stoke your impassioned spirit, hm?”

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she narrowed her gaze at him in a smirk. “None who can bring out my _impassioned_ side quite like you can – _that’s_ for certain. Though, Pris has become a… temporary proprietor of sorts in my Biology class, as I’ve told you. She’s _far_ more subtle and professional than you ever were, though.”

“Well, forgive me for being a young boy hellbent on wanting you to _take notice_ ”, he responded wily. “It certainly wasn’t an easy task, and so desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And you _really_ considered it an appropriate action to take in pulling my hair and calling me a most insidiously targeted name?”

She studied with a scrutinising gaze, watching as his jaw worked and he glanced away in a rather abashed fashion. “…It’s… of course, the passage of time and increasing mature has shown me _now_ that it was a… flawed approach.”

A chuckle rumbled from her throat, and she rolled her eyes playfully before leaning back against the seat, parallel to him. “At least you _have_ now caught wind of how to not aggravate me so incessantly. Other people still have… much to learn”, she finished in a sigh, shaking her head.

“I feel there’s a story coming on”, Gilbert suggested with a crinkle of his brow.

Anne tilted her head, smiling wryly at him. “Wise assumption.”

“Then, by all means,” he said, voice lilting upward as he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as he rested his forearms against his knees, “recite away.”

She exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes in regretful memory along with a shaking head. “Well, as my somewhat begrudging prelude offers any such indication, this particular tale is one of woe. It follows the trials and tribulations occurring on such a Wednesday – the most _malevolent_ of days, to begin with”, she added with a groan that had Gilbert raising his brows with bemused amusement, “to yours truly, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Though, in this instance, I may refer to myself in the third person as Cordelia. It’s more… fetching, and grandiose. _Ahem,_ So… Our vehemently sanguine heroine goes about her merry way; purposeful in her actions as she strides toward a difficultly obtained sort of justice, blissfully ignorant to what awaits in her Biology class.”

Staring ahead as the flock of gulls continued to ravage mercilessly at the diminishing school hidden beneath the waves, she sighed. “She arrives in a frenzied desperation, ready to see what new knowledge she can add to her ever-growing collection, and decipher what can be applied to her abdominal passion. Finding herself seated between a like-minded woman of independence and a young man two fluttering eyes away from a deep-seated slumber, she listens assiduously to her rather beige and morose teacher talk about one of the most fascinating subjects as though it were…” she trailed off, waving her hand in a flimsy gesture, “algebraic equations or something.”

Seeing his head jerk up beside her, the young redhead slid her gaze over to see Gilbert’s face screw up in teasing perplexity. “You know, Anne, some may actually find algebraic equations to be… riveting.”

“Well, _some_ of those particular people may have a few screws loose”, she tilted her chin teasingly at him. “Now, focus on the story; no more needless interruptions from you.”

He held his hands up in surrender, beckoning her to continue. Taking a deep breath, she did just that. “However, things take a rather _haggard_ turn for Cordelia when the professor of hers decides to draw on his more advanced age and the manipulation of authority to breech the code of impartiality… and expose impressionable youths to serious and damaging matters.”

Her speech faltered, wavering on the crux of the issue as she teetered forward. In her periphery, Gilbert angled his head more towards her, scrunching eyebrows tightening above imploring eyes as they searched hers. Inhaling sharply through her nose, she bolted to her feet, chest constricted with a righteous fury. “It’s a _disgrace_. The entire system! How on this godforsaken Earth are we, the next generation of leaders and law-makers, supposed to be able to make those necessary _progressive_ decisions toward a _better_ future if we’re too busy living in archaic societal mindsets? Huh? How are _we_ expected to be able to have the clarity of mind and eagerness to embrace what is new if the old ways are irrefutably shoved down our throats?!”

“Anne, just… let me help in any way that I can. Talk me through what happened”, Gilbert assured placatingly. His tone and words, however, went completely unnoticed by Anne, who was in the midst of her own personal hellfire.

“It is a teacher’s duty to provide the information and tools for a student to draw conclusions and learn on their own accord – not to… to _lay out_ the path they deem fit. It’s eliminates the intellectual thought, just… mass produces the same kind of person _over_ and _over_ again. It eradicates the choice to decide for ourselves our mind about things… He knows the power and responsibility he holds, and yet… he makes his choice on spreading falsities and blatant propaganda in a classroom that should be subjective. He’s only contributing to the problem…” she murmured sharply into the wind, hands resting on her corset-bound hips.

“Who is?” he asked from behind her.

The sea breeze began to pick up as she shook her head, red tendrils becoming somewhat windswept in the cool, salty air. Chuckling scornfully, she replied, “My Biology teacher, Mr Quinston. I presumed him harmless, but… the other day, he went on this… sadistic tirade at the expense of those unlike him.” Her lip curled, and she vaguely heard Gilbert shuffling behind her, drawing out a stilted sigh. “He’s utterly _despicable_ , and has _clearly_ made up his mind on the issue of discrimination, and is using his platform heedlessly to stoke the already well-kindled fire that is continuing to torture the accursed.”

She tucked a particular vexing lock of hair behind her ear, voice lowering in a dangerous way. “He had this… spark in his eye. And usually, you know, I… sparks in one’s eyes are a romantic thing. Something to be desired, revered. But this… it was pure malice. _Full_ of ill-intent.” Swallowing thickly, she began to pace. “He was making a mockery of people like Bash, and Mary, and Ka’kwet, and anyone who _dares_ appear different to him; like it was the most heinous of crimes that their culture or skin be unfamiliar to him, regardless of the fact that he was undeniably being a callous _bully_ at their expense to a room filled with young men and women.”

Her quickening pace brought her quickly to a small shrub, at which she turned on her heel and walked back down the path. “I, being me, took a stance against his derogatory ways and tried to help him see sense in a logical and respectful manner. He, however, was haste to disregard me, and very soon, it appeared I was a lone wolf in this situation. Pris…” she paused to turn once more, “I know she means well, but she, like many others, doesn’t grasp the gravity of what’s being done and what _needs_ to be done to rectify it… No one did. I couldn’t stand another minute, so I hightailed as fast as I could out of there and fully realised just how _much_ I needed to devote myself to this most pressing issue. Why, I think I’d be rather alone in my stead if not for Diana and Cole and, of course, Roy’s unexpected but generous and welcomed assistance on the matter, and—”

“Roy? Who—who’s Roy?”

The inflicted injection brought her ricocheting to a startling halt, and her head snapped around to meet his.

“Oh”, she said plainly, speaking the only thought present in her halted mind. She suddenly recalled that she’d seemingly failed to mention Roy in any of her letters to Gilbert; he hadn’t exactly been the dark and handsome gentleman on her mind during those most intimate of written moments. Her hands wrung as she stepped toward Gilbert, who seemed to have a guarded expression upon his features. “Well, he’s a—”

“Anne! It is by the blessed luck of Fortuna that I should find you here!”

The young redhead paused in her advances at the familiar voice, turning to the circumstantial newcomer with a wide smile. “Roy! Hello, fancy coming across you here of all places on a Saturday afternoon. I didn’t know you took amusement from walking along the promenade.”

The young, slim gentleman was clad head-to-toe in his second to Sunday best – a polished, midnight three-piece suit, coupled with a bowtie to boot as he tipped his bowler hat charmingly at her. He stood proud and direct; gaze unwavering as he ran his hand down his lapel. “Well, whilst I in fact do just that from time to time – the sea provides such a bountiful scope for a poetic imagination – I’m actually here with a particular purpose in mind, if you would be so kind. I originally passed by the boarding house, but Mrs Blackmore alerted me to the fact that you were out running errands. I came across Diana with this polite, quiet fellow, and she told I might find you around town. It’s been quite the expedition trying to locate you, but seems I finally have…”, his green eyes suddenly flickered away to a spot past her, narrowing quizzically, “yet, it seems not _alone_ …”

At his sudden recognising of another person’s presence, Anne jolted with an “Oh!” and sidestepped to allow circumferential view of the trio, gesturing between the two men. “Roy Gardner, this is Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert, I’d like for you to meet Roy.”

As the former rose to his feet, it became apparent the two dark-haired boys were similar in stature, with Gilbert only a couple of inches short of Roy’s height. Anne smiled between the two, completely enamoured with these two salutary men in her life meeting for the first time, shaking hands with apparent harmony, to notice the hardened defensiveness in Gilbert’s deep hazel eyes, nor the sceptical quirk of Roy’s brow.

The passing looks were reined in before Anne could become aware of their subtle transgressions, and Roy smiled, regally high cheek-boned and open. “Ah, so this is the Mr Blythe of whom I’ve heard so much of. Some travel to hail _all_ the way from Toronto. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Roy, was it?” Gilbert asked, words coming out through slightly gritted teeth. “Ironically, I’ve heard little mention of _you_.”

Their hands dropped, and Roy glanced down at Gilbert with a practiced narrowness. “It’s short for _Royal_.”

Anne flicked Gilbert a questioning glance following his strangely abrupt tone, before facing back around to the other young man in their presence. “So uh, Roy, you said there was… something you needed?”

Shoulders visibly relaxing as he refocused onto Anne, that same serious charm in his eyes as reached into his jacket pocket. “Actually, it appears to be something requiring the need for _your_ attention.”

“Oh?”

With furrowed brows, he met her concerned gaze with a thoughtful one, brandishing an envelope in his hands. “This appeared in my pigeon hole, however, I believe whomever placed it there meant for it to go to you. Though, I suppose it could be confused given how we’ve been expressing active interest on the topical issue at hand. Or, rather, _in_ hand.”

At his wording, Anne cocked her head in confusion before glancing down, and immediately gasped. The addresser upon the letter sent her heart into a hammering frenzy, and she slammed both hands against her beating chest, willing it to be still. Wide ocean-blue eyes glanced up and were reflected in his knowing green ones. “The Globe!”

He nodded significantly back, lowered gaze watching as Anne’s shaky hands received the providential envelope as though a gift of God himself. “I knew you’d be in a righteous anxiety if you were not to receive it as expeditiously as possible, so I hastened to see it delivered into your hands upon my own.”

“Oh my… For something so featherlight, it holds the weight of thousands of anguished souls…”, she murmured, half to herself as shaky fingers traced over the professional print of the major news company. Redirecting her focus back to Roy, her eyes darted between his with a profound urgency. “Thank you, Roy… _so_ much. Just… thank you. You’re simply knightly to have searched so fervently to find me”, she proclaimed, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his neck, standing on the toes of her boots. He was quick to reciprocate, as his gentle arms came around her waist, resting chastely upon the small of her back. They held for a moment before Anne took a step back, glancing up at him with an appreciate smile.

He returned it, nodding his head toward her in a quiet bow. “It’s the very least I can do, Anne. I’m simply humbled to be able to be of some assistance in this pivotal quest you’re leading.” As if remembering that they were, in fact, not alone, acquisitive of Gilbert shifting upon the gravel behind them, Roy cleared his throat, pulling down the gold-linked cuffs of his jacket. “Well, I must also apologise for interrupting your time with Mr Blythe here. As I’ve completed my civil duty, I shall graciously take my leave and leave you two to enjoy the rest of your time together. Take care.”

“Thank you again, Roy”, Anne insisted, stepping backward to where she felt Gilbert’s awaiting presence. Smiling, she added, “Tuesday morning at the library? Cole was wondering if he’d be able to join our discussion as well – I believe he has some much-needed insight to add.”

Roy grinned suavely in return, tipping his hat as he began to step back onto his heel. “I wouldn’t miss our rendezvouses for all the constellations in our starlit skies. And of course! Cole is… how is it you say? A kindred spirit? I appreciate his artistic point of view from every possible angle. He’d be a remarkable addition to our partnership. Well, good day to you, Anne”, he turned to face Gilbert, a knowing glint in his eyes as his brow quirked, “and to you, Mr Blythe.”

As Anne waved her friend’s retreating back cheerily, she felt Gilbert stiffen beside her. “Good day… Royal”, he muttered scathingly back.

With that, Anne turned back around to face her beau, smiling brightly, if anxiously at the constant weight in her hands. She wielded the envelope, flashing it in front of their faces as a nervous grin came across her face. “This… this is what I’ve been waiting for.”

The glazed look in Gilbert’s eyes vanished, and he narrowed his eyes blearily back at her. “Wait… w- _what_ is?”

“This!” she exclaimed excitedly, waving the letter once again. “This is a response from _The_ Globe, Gilbert. A response to my letter about the Mi’kmaq people!”

His eyes fluttered along with his flickering gaze. “… Right. That.”

“Oh, I wonder what it says”, she muttered, looking at it momentously. Taking a shuddering breath in, she then bated it, swallowing harshly as she slipped a nail underneath the crimson wax seal. It opened with a pop, and Anne’s lungs sucked in a sudden jolt of crisp air. Steeling herself, she flicked it open and reached dainty fingers in, pulling out the folded wood-pulp paper and unravelling it carefully. With one last moment of solitude, she began to read.

“Um… Anne… I-I wanted…”

“‘Dear Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, Thank you considerably for your recent submission as a potential investigative news report…” she read steadily, eyes cracking each word open with her sharp gaze, all other senses completely oblivious.

“I was just… wondering if there may be… I don’t know… maybe I’m paranoid…”

“We, at the Globe, take on board all possible stories that could enlighten the public in a positive and progressive way, in the hope to maintain Canada’s renowned reputation of prosperous posterity…”

“Look, I understand that I’m not at all here all the time, I-I really do, I just…”

“However, this particular topic that you’ve brought to us is inconsequential, and we believe it is not in need of being addressed in such an explicit and graphic manner”, she choked out, eyes narrowing shakily.

“Dick said some things to me… planted this… fear in me… I’m not sure how exactly to express this, but I just feel like… like… _Lord give me strength_ …”

“The topic of the… the Indian Problem is one of immense gravity, a-and currently weighing heavily on our government…”

“Anne, I-I’m sorry; I know this is important but… but _this_ is important, too.”

“It would not bode well for us as a corporation, nor you as an individual, to discuss such’- such _claims_?! They’re not claims, they are straight _facts! Ugh!_ ‘Such _claims_ so cavalierly amongst the population. It is our strong suggestion that you not pursue this any further’”, she growled menacingly, her tight grip on the paper causing crinkles.

“ _Anne_!” Gilbert’s sudden loud exclamation brought her head snapping up, anger blurring her vision as the panting figure swam in it before her.

“What”, she breathed, shaking her head, brows furrowing in confusion.

Finally looking at him, she was startled back by the sheer intensity of his eyes as they bored into her. He took a sudden, choked breath, tense posture collapsing as he glanced uneasily away, keeping his eyes from her, yet somehow still focusing his entire energy on her as he warily asked, “…What… or rather _who_ exactly… is Roy to you?”

“What?” she asked, incredulity dripping in her tone. This was _hardly_ the appropriate time to be asking social questions. Had he not heard her read what the letter had said? Her short-fused, aggravated mind could hardly string two logical thoughts together. “Gilbert, what _are_ you talking about?”

He shifted uncomfortably, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he dared to glance back at her. “I don’t… the two of you just then seemed, like maybe… _certainly_ on his part…”

She groaned through a sigh, shaking her head perplexedly. “Gilbert, I’m not sure what _nonsensical_ allusion it is you’re suggesting right now, but I’m not in the frame of mind to deal with it; _obviously_ ”, she emphasized by waving the now condemnable note. In front of them, off the boardwalk, the sea gulls had begun to fight amongst themselves for the last few straggling sardines.

“And like I said, I _understand_ that, Anne”, he said pointedly, “but as I _also_ alluded to, this is currently weighing on my mind; and quite unrelentingly so. I... I just want clarity.”

“Well, it will have to wait, as this… _damned_ thing”, she growled, shaking the letter with fervent loathing, “is currently presenting an Olympian obstruction in my conquest for justice.”

“Yours and _Roy_ ’s, you mean”, Gilbert muttered under his breath, cloaked in disdain.

Anne threw her arms up. “My Lord! Yes! Roy has indeed been aiding me in my fight for the Mi’kmaq people, and we’ve been working together amicably – with _out_ a single conflict, might I add. What is ever so wrong about that?”

“Well, I’m just _thrilled_ to hear that you two… _work_ together so harmoniously. Truly ecstatic.”

“Is this because I’m friends with a boy?”, she asked lowly, threateningly. “Is this why you’re so up in arms? Because I’m _fraternising_ with someone of the opposite gender that isn’t _you_?!”

“Anne, you’re not blind!” he pointed out, voice raising. “Nor am I. And of course I don’t have any qualm whatsoever with you making new friends, woman _or_ man – frankly, I’m offended at your suggestion that I _would._ But I know you can see _just_ as clearly as I do that Roy Gardner has much more than friendship and camaraderie on his mind.”

The young woman gasped in exasperation, shaking her head at him. “I… I can _not_ believe you… Are… are you _serious,_ Gilbert Blythe? Really? Firstly, what you are insinuating is _incomprehensibly_ ludicrous, and secondly, there are _much_ big problems with a whole lot more at stake, such as the wellbeing of an _entire culture and people_! Which you know had you bothered to listen to a single word of this letter I just read. This is Billy Andrews and those _bloody_ cabbages all over again…”

“ _Don’t_ bring past conflicts into this current one. Of _course_ I understand the gravity of what the Mi’kmaq people are facing – in case the memory escaped in that imagination of yours, I’ve been facing similar issues head-on with Bash for the past few years”, he snapped, gaze hardening. “Also, you may have forgotten that in every single letter I’ve mailed to you, I’ve also sent my own personal insights and newspaper clippings that could help on the matter of helping them. I spent my fair share of time with them, and I hold the utmost respect for them; particularly for their medicine woman, who has knowledge of things that Western civilisation won’t figure out for another half century without their help! So, believe me: I know _precisely_ what is at stake, but I also hold a great deal of importance on nurturing my relationship with _you_.”

“Gilbert, for Heaven’s sake, _focus!_ ” she snapped back, adding more fuel to the fire that was their brewing yelling match. “Our relationship has _nothing_ to do with this!”

“Clearly, since you and Roy are apparently such a great, no, _exceptional_ T-E-A-M. No need for me”, he snarled.

The idly tossed reminder of one of their most intimate moments caused her heart to whimper delicately, before it set her blood alight and she gasped. “How _dare_ you? Where on _Earth_ is this _coming_ from? You’re behaving petulantly and absolutely ridiculously, and I will _not_ stand for it. I don’t know quite what has gotten into you but it needs to stop _now_ , or else I’m walking off this very instant.”

Their current spat was nothing more than a douse of fuel into the fire of her lingering feelings of the letter still gripped in her grasp, but it made all the difference. She took a step forward, jamming a finger into his chest harshly as she glared dangerously up at him. “You do _not_ have authority over me, is that understood? If I choose to spend my time with a caring and compassionate gentleman offering to help me in an hour of need, all while you’re off _galivanting_ about the big city, then I may see fit to do so. Let’s not forget that _you_ were the one who chose to leave off for halfway across the country – though I suppose abandoning ship, and _for_ ship, is something you’ve developed a particular proclivity for", she hissed bitterly. "Roy has presented himself to me as a comrade in arms against the discriminatory patriarchy, and he is fighting just as ceaselessly as I am for the welfare of all those at risk. He is being a _good friend_ ; a caring, unproblematic one who I just meld with. And you know what? It is just _so liberating_ to not constantly be butting heads with someone like pair of Spanish bulls every five minutes. He’s a _kindred spirit_ , and if you have a problem with that, then that is something _you_ have to work through and come to terms with. Do I make myself clear?”

Her eyes were drilled so relentlessly into his that she failed to notice the way in which his jaw worked grindingly, teeth biting into his bottom lip. He blinked, hazel eyes tinged with red as he hissed back, “Transparently so.”

Once more, they were mere inches apart, faces separated only by the mingling breath between them as a fiery heat coursed through the palpable tension. The difference was that fiery heat being fuelled by unbridled fury, however, and with a stuttering breath, Anne stepped back into her own cool, shiver-inducing sphere. She looked out to the bay, watching as the flock of gulls began their ascension into the cloud dusted sky above. Her vision stayed on them, watching as they continued to disappear beyond the horizon. It was when they were mere dots in the distant that Gilbert’s low, hoarse tone spoke up beside her. “It’s ten-minutes-till-four. We… we best head back.”

“I do not need a chaperone.”

“I know.”

Breathing deeply, she dignified him with a hum in response, then without another acknowledgement, set about walking off. She maintained a good few feet in front of the young man, but never wavered in distance as she listened closely to the light thump of leather boots behind hers. The lingering wounds that had been the cause of hurtful words thrown was still fresh and raw, and Anne’s gut twisted as she focused her energy on the direct view before her. The silent walk felt like agonising eons as both kept to themselves; Anne keeping her head low as a cloud hung directly over her head, casting shadows on every thing she laid eyes upon. She swallowed thickly, hands coming to the front of her skirt as she picked at the stitching. It seemed like an eternity before the finally arrived back at the wrought iron gate entrance, where Diana appeared to be sharing a fond exchange with Fred Wright. Both had light blushes adorning their smiling faces, eyes crinkling as they gazed at one another. Something pummelled Anne’s stomach when Fred took Diana’s hands in his own, caressing her alabaster skin with his thumbs as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss upon her cheek. Her bosom friend beamed ever more so, smiling widely at the man before her. Anne’s steps faltered, pulling her up short beside the hedge line, a way’s away from them still.

Taking a steadying breath, she narrowed her vision to encompass the small circle around the hemming of her skirt and boots, listening intently as the leather-bound footsteps became louder and slower. They pulled up right beside her, a sigh eliciting from their owner as they righted themselves to be parallel to Anne’s. As they sighed, Anne glanced up at the semi-conscious street.

For a heavy moment, neither one spoke, both too focused on their own cacophony of thoughts raging through their mind. They’d argued before – challenging one another was in their nature, after all – but none had ever felt so… weighted. So burdensome. The rest of their afternoon had been something from a dream, perfect in every way possible… the aggression had manifested almost seamlessly, as though just pent up, waiting below the surface. Anne was stubborn in her ways and in her words, firmly believing in her own justification of the words she had fired so haphazardly. Part of her knew that Gilbert was of similar mind about his own cavalry. Glancing sideways to where she saw the young man hanging his head, the slightest of pings in her chest tried to scream for a display of remorse, of mercy on this man she cared so profoundly for. To be the bigger person and apologise first if that was what it took to eradicate the wounded puppy look on his features. But the larger, more obstinate part of her wanted to hold on to her own belief of righteousness. And so, she simply said, “Thank you for escorting me home. You… really didn’t have to.”

There was a pause that followed, and for a moment, Anne teetered on the edge of a precipice, wary of diving into a torrent of an apology. Then, there was a shuddering breath beside her, and Gilbert shifted, causing the hedge’s leaves against his back to rustle. “I know”, he said quietly, almost to himself.

The uncomfortable blanket of silence settled over them once more as both refused to speak, didn’t know what to say to rip the palpable awkwardness of the situation. Despite her relentless mind refusing her, her body reacted to Gilbert’s proximity like a body, gravitating endlessly closer. It took the entirety of her willpower to hold herself steadfast against her instincts, turning her eyes from him in a hope to rein back power. A mere moment later, she felt the hedge shift, drawing her attention back up as Gilbert stepped forward off it, turning to walk down the path and not quite facing her as he murmured, “I’ll be off, then.”

Her entire being screamed in protest as he began to step away, glancing at her continuously from the corner of his eye, waiting for her response. Clearing her throat, she nodded once, lowering her head once more as she muttered, “Have a safe trip back to Toronto.”

Something in her chest leapt as his mouth moved and his hand lifted toward her. For a moment he stood still, eyebrows scrunching and lifting mechanically the way they always did when he was trying desperately to process something. She waited anxiously, subtly, before he stepped back with a sigh, hand lowering in the process. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you.”

“See you”, she whispered back, not even sure if it had been loud enough for him to be privy to it. With one last glance, he turned away, walking in the opposite direction of the house… and the opposite direction from her. Anne kept her gaze resolutely down, willing herself to not, whatever she did, _not_ look at him. It was a futile battle to which she soon laid down her weapons, head swivelling as she stared desperately after him. He was continuing his march, long legs carrying him forward, hands reaching up to adjust the newsboy cap upon his untameable dark curls. Her face constricted, and her eyes trained onto his figure as he progressed unchangingly.

Sucking in a deep breath, she murmured to the wind, “Come on… turn around.” Her hands wrung, and she rubbed her thumb along the cool ridge of her bracelet. “ _Please_ …”

Then he rounded the corner, and everything within Anne sank. She leaned back against the hedge, ignoring the way in which the small twigs cut into her skin, and she breathed through her nose. She shouldn’t have expected anything less, really – she’d certainly just put her foot so irrefutably in with him _once again_. Of course, her pride wouldn’t let her admit it plainly, let alone out loud, but she really had no one to blame but herself.

Gathering the pieces of her heart, she pushed off from the prickling hedge, breathing the rejuvenating air of the cool October atmosphere, and fabricated a smile onto her face. She was fine.

Fred had just finished biding Diana farewell when Anne approached, practicing her smile on her dearest friend. There was a plethora of times that she had indulged on the supporting hand of friendship, and had hardly reciprocated to an equal level; so, she shoved her aggravated demons roughly down into a dusty compartment in her mind, and looked toward the blushing young woman. The raven-haired beauty turned to her in giddy surprise, pulling her into an excitable hug as she squealed.

Diana _never_ squealed.

This was certainly something she could focus her energy on.

“You appear to have had a most remarkably delightful time with _the band_ , my bosom friend”, she grinned slyly, ignoring the instinct to whirl around and chase after Gilbert helplessly.

The grin upon Diana’s face was positively and wildly lovesick, her dark eyes shining in mesmerism. “Oh, Anne”, she sighed, knees almost buckling beneath her, “I had simply the most _wondrous_ afternoon with Fred – he’s a true gentleman. There’s this endearing and quaint French _patisserie_ near to the campus with the some of the most delectable and authentic cuisine I’ve ever come across this side of the Atlantic! Fred, bless his heart, had me teach him the correct pronunciation of all the choices on the menu, and he tried a croissant for the first time. They were so buttery and freshly warm to the touch, like a cosy embrace… and then afterwards, we had tea and _macarons_ before enjoying a stroll down Belvedere Avenue… It was just sublime”, she murmured with a dazed look in her eyes, as though she were still locked in a certain pair of doting brown eyes.

A prickling sensation sparked in Anne’s eyes, temporarily blurring her vision. She blinked it rapidly away, flickering smile shining purely for her best friend. “Oh, my dearest Diana,” she cooed, reaching for her hands to swing them gently, “You and Fred are the perfect successors of a tale old as time. I’m ever so happy that you’ve found the King Arthur to your Guinevere.”

“Camelot?”, she quirked a mirthful brow, “I’d pictured us more of the… Robin Hood and Maid Marian archetype. Fred is proving to have a rather… adventurous spark about him that I’m sure you would certainly appreciate.”

A breath of a chuckle hummed in Anne’s throat, stepping forward to link arms with Diana as they began to walk through the gate and along the path. Anne kept her eyes trained on the ground beneath her feet, ignoring the onslaught of rage and anguish following the inconclusive feud, all for the sake of her best friend. She’d never seen her quite so saccharinely liberated in the years she’d known her, and she was not about to unburden her own weight upon her when she was so content.

However, for all her intent, Diana was her most trusted friend for a reason, and she felt the girl beside her shift; saying in a tone full of questioning, “You’re awfully quiet. Was everything alright with Gilbert? It must have been overwhelming to see him again.”

“Oh, I’m just a little weary; don’t worry yourself”, she dismissed with a wave of her gloved hand. “Besides, I’d love to hear more of all the ventures that you and your Robin Hood got up to in our short time apart.”

A slight tug on her interlocked elbow brought Anne’s vision up, and she was met by Diana’s appraising dark eyes, flickering between her own. “You must know by now that you can’t fool me, Anne; kindred spirits can detect when there’s a turmoil plaguing another… What’s the matter?”, she murmured in a softer tone, leaning closer as they neared the stairs leading to the porch. “Do I need to have words with him again?”

Something lumped in her throat as she shook her head, smiling wryly as they began their march up the stairs. “I’m fine. Truly.”

“Anne—”

“Please don’t ask me further, Diana”, she spoke in a desperate, hoarse voice, looking pleadingly at her best friend as they stood before the large door. Her words reverberated in a quiet echo filled with unbidden thoughts she wasn’t yet ready to voice. “I don’t wish to speak of it… yet.”

The petite young woman gave her one last critical assessment with her sharp eyes, dainty brows knitting together in doubt before sighing softly, saying with a conceding nod, “Okay. But you know that you can confide in me in anything at any time, and I’ll always listen. I don’t want you to bury yourself in destructive thoughts.”

She smiled gratefully and unlooped her arm to wrap it around her friend’s waist in a quick hug. Following the embrace of solidarity, they pulled open the door and walked inside. It was apparent as they stepped into the hallway that there wasn’t a single sign of Mrs Blackmore, who had seemingly retired for the day; having done the short walk back to her little cottage a little distance away, and left Lily to clean away the remnants of afternoon tea in preparation for dinner. As they glanced around the doorway, Anne and Diana saw that the girls had neglected their studies, even despite Prissy’s presence, and given into the urge of idle gossip. The eldest of the young women was showing Josie how to stoke the fire they were attempting to light – it was the first instance in which they’d felt the need the need to use it, with the crisp October air making its way into the house and down to their bones. Tillie was in the middle of pulling Ruby’s golden locks into a singular braid behind her head, listening intently as Jane prattled on about her Canadian history essay. The quaint domestic scene warmed Anne’s bruised heart, and despite the residue feelings of turmoil, she smiled.

Looking to Diana, she nudged her gently, bending down to remove her heeled boots. “You go on ahead; I’m just going to go to the room for a moment. I’ll meet you all down here soon.”

“Of course”, she murmured softly in response, squeezing the redhead’s shoulder comfortingly before stepping around her and walking into the dining room. Anne watched her leave as she unlaced her other shoe, her façade gradually dropping until she was finally alone. She sighed, suddenly feeling all the more fatigued now that there was no longer a need to hold up pretences. Gulping down her emotion, she deposited her boots upon the rack, hiked up her skirt, and began to ascend the staircase carefully. She’d very nearly breached the top when she heard a tapping against at the foot of it, and she whirled around, expression entirely indifferent.

On the bottom level, with her hand held readily against the railing, stood Lily with a pensive expression on her fine features. Her brows raised questioningly, and hand came back to her as she started ‘speaking’ in her silent language. _‘You failed to announce your return after the outing with your beau. It’s entirely unlike you, Anne; I thought you’d be itching to tell everyone about it.’_

From her higher ground, the redhead smiled back, hands moving rapidly, if somewhat not as smoothly in response. _‘It was… not quite what I was expecting.’_

The brunette’s face tightened at that, a certain protectiveness from their special bond shining through in her eyes. _‘I’m sorry to hear that… or interpret that, I should say for accuracy's sake’,_ she joked in an obvious attempt to bring up Anne’s sombre mood. The thoughtful gesture certainly perked her momentarily, and she smiled softly.

_‘I just need some time alone now, if that is alright with you, Lily_ ’, she gestured back, praying that the earnest nature of her request would allow it to be approved.

_‘Of course’,_ was directed back to her relief. _‘And… if you would grant you some solace of mind, as well, you may assist me in preparing dinner later? I’ll probably start in an hour or so, and I could use your skilful insight into exquisite flavour – I’m trying an exotic dish tonight, and believe your knowledge of spices could come in particular handy.’_

_‘Sounds extraordinary’,_ Anne replied with a smile, _‘and of course; I would love to help. Thank you, Lily.’_

The deaf girl nodded in recognition, tapping the wooden railing as she moved back around toward the kitchen. Anne lip quirked to herself, eyes glancing downward before she took a deep breath and continued forward, turning around the top toward hers and Diana’s room. It was a practiced, mechanical process that brought her through the door, past her bed and toward the bay window seat in which she flopped inelegantly into. In that moment, every single begrudging, targeted angry thought came rushing back, and she groaned loudly, sitting up to carelessly pluck out the pins that held her refined hair in place. The sting of the tugging on her scalp only added fuel to the fire as she began to rant, cursing under her breath.

“Spineless, callous, _egotistical_ , shallow, misogynistic cad! Positively _capital_ of him to throw in useless, unnecessary commentary on an absolutely baseless assumption when there is _clearly_ something so much more significant and sinister at hand. Just _where_ does he get off accusing me of… of… mercy me, I can’t even formulate the notion into words! Especially after the tempestuous happenings around his relationship with Winifred. I-I mean, there I am, trying to read a clearly pivotal piece of writing, an earth-shattering one at that, so transparently falling into a pit of nervous misery, and he has the undeniable _audacity_ to inquire into a platonic friendship of mine – because _Heaven forbid_ I be friendly with another man who isn’t my intended, or whatever it is the stupid courtship rules entail. Did we not spend an entire afternoon together, separated from the rest of the world in a devoted company of just us? Is he really so blind to see that I would never… _could_ never… I never pictured him the distrustful type, particularly in regards to _me;_ and yet, here we are, at this incredible, unprecedented juncture. Oh, who am I kidding?” she laughed bitterly, grunting as she pulled the final pin free and her near-auburn hair cascaded in waves upon her shoulders, “This is _precisely_ how are our relationship works and operates; it’s been so since the first day we met, and it’ll likely continue to the final one.”

She huffed, back hunching in the exhale, eyes reddening in furious melancholy as the hopeless reality of the situation dawned on her. She sunk back against the cushions, turning her head to glance out at the late-afternoon sky. Wispy clouds drifted across the sky, warning of the cool temperatures approaching nigh. Her eyes drifted over the canopy of trees toward the street, watching as Charlottetown descended into the sleepy haze before the golden hour, when she would begin to awake again for the night-time proceedings. A family walked along the dirt street: a young boy screeching in delight as he ran literal circles around his poor mother, who rested a baby on her hip and carried a picnic basket in hand, clearly in need of a decent rest. A man, conclusively her husband, appeared with a tender hand upon her back, and a young girl in his other. Her chest constricted as she watched the homely group walk off, undoubtedly on their way home after a nice Saturday out. She wondered fleetingly if she would ever truly know that.

Given her fiery temper and unstoppable nature, she was hardly a well-sought for lady. For a few blessed months, she hadn’t cared for such frivolous things, as she’d only worried about how she was presented in the eyes of one in particular. She’d been quick to believe that once she’d realised her unrequited love was, in fact, fervently requited, it was a sure future ahead for her and Gilbert. However, following their row today, the previously frozen seed of doubt thawed.

In a staggering moment of panic, Anne dared to wonder that if their entire relationship was just the culmination of fights, misgivings and miscommunications, with a sprinkling of passion between the two powerfully independent individuals… then could it even be sustained? There was clearly some pre-existing issue that Anne hadn’t yet known until that day, when Gilbert had suddenly expressed his shrouded mistrust…

Relationships were built upon trust and communication as the most crucial foundation… so if Gilbert didn’t trust her… then what was the point?

She took in a stuttering breath, grabbing one of the silky cushions toward her chest and held it flush there; burying her face into it as her knees drew up and further enclosed it. Though the tears prodded her relentlessly and threatened to fall, she resisted, choosing instead to fuel her energy into regulating her haggard breathing. There was no point in crying; she knew through painful experience that good things were ever meant to last.

* * *

Honestly, Gilbert had barely registered boarding the ferry, nor the train, the walk back to his apartment, nor finding his key to unlock it. And that whole process had spanned overnight. It was as though a fog had crossed over his path, blocking all his senses in a protective manner. Allowing himself to feel what he believed was just a loss would be too unbearable; there’d already been enough of losing people in his life. Acknowledging that he may have just lost the most important one was a realisation he didn’t want to come to. _Couldn’t_ come to.

His eyes were hazy, footsteps lagging, as he heard the tell-tale click, turned the knob and then walked in. In the brief moment before coming into view of the miniscule space, he prayed to God that if He were listening, He’d allow Gilbert a moment’s respite without any heedless questions.

“Aye, Blythe, you’re back!”

He sighed. Of _course,_ he wasn’t.

“I was thinkin’ you might get back in time for lunch”, Richard said through a mouthful of food, “so… gotcha a meat pie!”

Gilbert set his bag down, looking over to where his flatmate had flourished a small pastry in his free hand, eyes shining excitedly from his cumbersome work desk. He grinned, looking between the pie and the dark-haired Canadian. “It’s beef. They’re a key component of a healthy Australian diet.”

“Right”, Gilbert replied through his teeth, walking toward the sandy-haired lad with an outstretched hand, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ as he walked toward his bed. Biting into the morsel of food, he hardly thought of the taste nor texture, and set it aside on his bedside table as he bent to remove his shoes.

“Turns out there’s a corner store on Phipps Street that sells these delicious boys for a compatible price”, Richard continued, clueless to the hammering of Gilbert’s head. “Don’t get me wrong; these aren’t even on the same playing field as the ones back in Australia, but… they pass. If you didn’t turn up when you did, I was partially inclined to finish yours off, too.”

“Mhm”, Gilbert responded eloquently, eliciting a sigh as he sat back, reclining into his squeaky mattress with an arm slung over his eyes. He was utterly exhausted, and Richard’s continuous babbling was simply causing the pulsing in his head to intensify, but he knew sleep was most definitely not a possible option.

A chair shifted against the rickety wooden planks, and sock-clad feet shuffled along the ground toward him. “So…?”

“So…?” he drawled back, vision still blocked by the underside of his arm.

“Come on, mate!” He bounced on the bed as a weight landed near his feet. It was only when he felt a finger prod against the leg of his trousers that he peeked out from beneath the limb to see the Australian-born smiling suggestively at him. “How’s the misso? Must’ve been bloody good to see her again. Lay all the details on me; and don’t you go skimping on anything, now!”

The young man felt his throat constrict in an emotion that he didn’t want to feel, but nevertheless, he swallowed it down, and said as levelly a voice he could muster, “It was… It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

“Oh?” His golden brows shot up. “Do go on.”

Gilbert’s mouth opened to speak, but words failed to come out. He shut it again, looking off to the side at the dark, murky grey wall of his room. He thought back the day prior, in all its tumultuous gravity. At first, it had been everything his weary heart had been missing, and everything it had needed to remind him of what made the one-thousand-and-fifty-three miles away worth it. He was becoming fond of Toronto; he’d admit it, but Prince Edward Island was home. _She_ was home. And the way his entire being had felt lifted the moment she pressed her palm to his cheek had been like nothing else.

The afternoon spent just walking and being with Anne in the relatively quiet Charlottetown had felt like something of a dream, one he never wished to wake up from. But then, that fear that had started to instil itself in him over the past weeks was made reality when that taller, darker, and arguably more handsome _Royal Gardner_ had flounced over to them in all his glorious posture and mannerisms, high-class black-and-white suit and bowler hat, and that ridiculously pompous expression in which poetry sprouted spontaneously from. He was perfectly poised, confident without coming across as arrogant, chivalrous in a way that would have knights wanting to up their game. And the final nail in the coffin was the way in which he looked at Anne. Gilbert knew that look all too well, for it was the same one in which he stared at Anne, as well. A horrific, green-eyed beast roared in his chest, growling threateningly as the exchange had unfolded before him.

Gardner was every bit the heroic, inscrutable vision of Anne’s romance stories, and the way in which they’d so easily conversed like characters from a novel shook him to his core. The simplicity of action in the way she was unhesitant to hug him, and how she tipped ever so slightly forward to reach the taller fellow had Gilbert reeling in a way he hadn’t quite understood. The fear blinded him, drowned out all sense and senses as he tried to justify everything.

His consequent argument with Anne rattled him only further, and it was in her final outburst that he shattered in the stark realisation that his worst fear was perhaps coming true.

Sighing deeply, he rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, looking up at Richard with despondent hazel eyes. “I think that… perhaps… you may have been right.”

The blond cocked his head, brows furrowing in confusion. “About?”

He swallowed, gaze flickering down before settling back on the Australian. “Anne, she… I think she may have found a better ‘situation’.”

“Oh, mate”, he murmured, empathy thick in his voice. Shaking his head, he patted Gilbert’s calf comfortingly. “Bloody… I’m sorry. That’s rough as hell… You know what you need?”

_Yes: Anne_ , was all Gilbert’s mind could process, but he knew there would be a much more vulgar suggestion voiced by his boisterous flatmate. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, praying that whatever Richard said would not involve leaving the apartment, and certainly not going to one of the secret brothels of the city.

The other boy slapped his leg, getting to his feet as he firmly said, “Rum. A _whole_ lotta rum. Lucky for you… I got some of the finest imported stuff money can buy: Bundy Rum. Bundaberg, if you wanna get technical.”

“No, Dick”, Gilbert sighed, reaching up to grab his forearm before he could get too close to the alcohol. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, truly, but I don’t wish to drink about it. I’d rather just… have a small rest and then resituate myself with the medical books. Besides, Donna is expecting me tomorrow morning before class, and I’d rather not be incapacitated for work at dawn.”

“Alright…” Richard replied, nodding his head as he reclaimed his arm. He flashed the dark-haired boy an empathetic smile. “Kudos to you for handling it maturely; I certainly couldn’t. But hey,” he urged suddenly, reaching a hand across to grasp Gilbert’s shoulder, “you mayn’t want to drink about it, but if you wanna… you know… _talk_ about it at any given time, I’m here whenever you need. Literally. Perks of having an annoyingly conversational roommate.”

He chuckled in spite of himself, flashing the older boy an appreciate, watery smile. “Thank you.”

“No worries”, he replied, sparing him one last look before heading back toward his misshapen desk, leaving Gilbert alone with his thoughts.

The young man sighed, falling back against the covers as he stared up at the ceiling, hands interlocked atop his chest. His mind, his own personal torture device, replayed every memorable second of the day just gone; every good laced with a twinge of bittersweet joy, every bad with a sinking hopelessness as he wondered what exactly became of his courtship with Anne at this point. He knew he’d never care for anyone the way he did her, and she was everything for him, but he wondered if that feeling was still as mutual as she had once expressed it was. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the particularly harsh memory of when he'd been walking to the train station; turning around the corner off of Anne's street, only to whirl around with some half-formed apology or... something on his tongue. However, when he'd seen her again, she'd already been engaged in an animated conversation with Diana, seemingly unperturbed by the entire disagreement. 

‘Distance makes the heart grow fonder’, she’d written in one of her previous correspondences with him after he’d expressed how he missed her so tenderly. Doubt clouded that statement now, and he wondered if it truly held weight for them, or if were just a false hope tearing at the slipping tether of their relationship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Marigold: the flower of Strong Passion, Grief & Jealousy_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all: YAS SHIRBERT DATE, BUT NOOOO THE ANGST - HOW COULD YOUUUU??!?!?!!?!  
> me: YAS SHIRBERT DATE and angst but ALSO LETS GO LESBIANS. LETS GOOOOO
> 
> real talk tho, this chapter was SO tumultuous, and i do apologise for the angst (it hurts but BELIEVE ME, its necessary). the happy-go-lucky part of the date was so easy to write (legit chucked out 4k words in one day on that) but the fight? omg... nightmare trying to make that realistic and tangible. then again, both these kids are so bad at communicating, and sooooo fckn dramatic. but PLEASE let me know what you guys thought of it
> 
> also, ofc i was gonna have prissy in this - boss bitch deserves ALL the recognition after s3. having her be friends with josie is just the biggest fuck you to billy; and ngl, i was seriously considering pairing them up. but anyway xD
> 
> i appreciate every single comment, kudos, subscriber and bookmarker more than words can say, and i just wanna find a way to go through the screen and give you all a hug to say thank you. because i appreciate yall SO MUCH xx
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: queens students are smack bang in the middle of exam prep when major shit goes down, served with a side of angst, sprinkled with angst, and a refreshing glass of angst. i apologise in advance. bring tissues.


	7. Anemone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and her friends are in the midst of cramming for their exams and assessment pieces when suddenly, disaster strike.
> 
> (WARNING: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h-hi guys... *nervous chuckling* um... hows it hangin? *wringing hands together*  
> been what... four weeks?  
> i am SO sorry this chapter is legit two weeks late; ive started uni (yay!), am working, planning my upcoming birthday, and writing my own book -- thus, im finding it very hard to find time to knock down 10k words in a fortnight. also, this chapter was intense and kinda hard to write. i will apologise in advance  
> i promiseeee im going to get back to more structured and regular posting from now on.  
> enjoy the chapter!! (i feel like i shouldnt say enjoy for whats coming. more like 'have some tissues on standby')

November had settled onto Prince Edward Island, and with it, the now biting cold that froze a person down to their core. The temperature had dropped rather suddenly and dramatically, leaving the residents of Charlottetown with chattering teeth and goosebumps all across their flesh. Sitting outdoors for tea was no longer an option unless you were to wear three or more heavy layers. Wispy clouds covered the sky and foretold of snow to arrive in the coming weeks. In hindsight, it was the perfect predecessor of a winter wonderland, yet Anne hadn’t quite felt the apprehensive joy of the coming winter she normally did; her mind was far too preoccupied.

Rubbing her gloveless hands together, she walked up toward the café’s counter, smiling at the waitress that stood gingerly. Blowing warm air into her palms, she shoved her hands into her pockets as she leaned toward the menu. “Good afternoon – I hope you’re all staying snug in here.”

“Good afternoon”, the young blonde smiled politely back. “And yes, thank you. Our backroom is a blessing with all the ovens and furnaces. I apologise for the heat not extending to your sitting area.”

“Oh no, it’s quite alright”, she assured with a dismissive wave of her hand, “It’s a small price to pay for your scrumptious cakes – they’re providing my friends and me with a most indispensable study fuel”, she paused, gesturing over to the table where her sisterly schoolmates – plus the masculine presence of Moody and Fred – sat with bowed heads and panicked expressions. “I’ve come to ask if we may please have a pot of tea and some milk as an accompaniment?”

“Of course”, the waitress replied, gaze turning down as she picked up a notepad, “what flavour would you like?”

Glancing over to where Ruby was on the cusp of a mental breakdown, nearly pulling out her elegant updo, Anne turned back with a wry smile on her face. “Anything that has some chamomile in it, if possible.”

Her grey eyes slid over to where Anne’s attention had been briefly diverted and nodded knowingly. “Oh, dear… yes, we have just the thing. Please feel free to return to your table, and someone will bring it out to you promptly.”

“Thank you oh so much”, Anne urged fervently, beginning to turn on her heel as she said back, “you may be saving a few scholars’ sanity in this action.”

She heard a burst of laughter behind her as she began back to the table, pulling her green coat closer. As she neared, she was able to pick up on the whispered conversation before her.

“Oh, it’s all very romantic and sad”, Ruby said solemnly, shaking her head. Her gaze flickered to the young man beside her. “I sometimes find myself wishing Moody was off on some distant adventure so I might get to be prettily crying at the window, awaiting his return.”

As Moody’s head jolted up in affronted surprise, Diana’s brows furrowed. “No one is prettily crying, _least_ of all her. And I hardly think the situation is romantic.”

Josie hummed in agreement before turning to Ruby with a question in her eyes. “Do you really wish that, Ruby?”

The golden-haired girl’s baby cornflower eyes widened in horror, and her head shook fervently. “No, I do not”, she turned her head toward her still slightly offended and confused suitor, “and the very second I said it, I wanted to weep at the mere idea of it.”

“Don’t fret, my angel”, he cooed as her bottom lip began to whimper; and from her position, Anne could clearly see his hand reach over under the table to hold hers tenderly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As Ruby’s glistening eyes lit up in a smile, Jane groaned. “Perish the thought you spend a single day away from him and his banjo.”

Ruby’s face contorted to one of transgression so sharply, Anne wondered briefly if she’d been possessed as she glowered over at her friend. “It isn’t _my_ fault he’s so irresistibly handsome when he plays for me. I can’t help it!”

A bittersweet pang sounded in Anne’s chest, sighing as she remembered the painful interaction she’d had not yet two weeks ago. Her dearest friends weren’t privy to quite nearly enough details, but they knew enough to understand there had been an absolute shift in Anne and Gilbert’s relationship. A potentially indefinite one, at that… She shook her head clear of the thought; she did not have time to allow herself to focus on such shortcomings. If she did, she would undoubtedly fall into the depths of despair, and if she was to ace her upcoming assessments, she couldn’t have a mere second of distraction…

She had already spent the Sunday after wallowing in shadow of the cloud overhanging her head, not leaving the safety of her bed.

The elicited sound brought the attention of her friends toward her, and she quickly plastered a nonchalant smile on. She’d known exactly what they’d been conversing about, but she really didn’t want any focus drawn on her right now. It was an odd feeling to wish so indeed.

“Good news, comrades: the tea will be on its way shortly”, she announced as she lowered into her seat beside Diana. She noticed the forced smiles on her friend’s faces that most likely mirrored a more extreme version of her own, but decided against commenting on it for the sake of normalcy.

“Thank you for that, Anne”, Diana spoke up first, smiling across at her bosom friend. “That was very generous of you to offer”, she paused to then look pointedly at their surrounding company, “We _all_ know that you have a great task of managing your accelerated course _and_ working toward the Avery.”

A murmur of agreement arose from table as everyone busied their heads back into their own business, eyes skimming over pages of notes and text. Anne stifled a snort, shaking her head lightly as she shuffled in closer toward the jumbled mess of her Hamlet essay, propping an elbow on the table to rest her chin atop her hand. Her mind felt fuzzy, and her body groggy as she fluttered to keep her eyes open and focused on how Ophelia and Gertrude were both victim to the patriarchal world and writing of Shakespeare. The fountain pen in her hand traced obediently, page after page, and soon, she found herself shaking her hand free of cramps. After a moment, a small piece of paper with frayed edges was slid in front of her, and she glanced toward Diana to see her discreetly nodding toward it.

Brow quirked, she tentatively picked it up, unfolding it to reveal her friend’s impeccably sumptuous cursive that read ‘I know you overheard the conversation. I’m sorry – I tried to veer them away from the topic before as to respect your privacy, but you know how they get. Are you okay?’

Anne smiled, tilting her head to direct it toward her friend’s subtly concerned face. Her dark, scrutinising eyes stared down to her very soul in a way that only a bosom friend’s could. With a silent sigh, the young turmoiled redhead knew there was no shrouding the truth from her knowing gaze; but that wouldn’t stop her from trying to dampen it.

Catching her eye, she hummed noncommittally, shrugging slightly as her lip thinned. The purposefully vague gesture elicited a narrowed gaze from Diana, and she persisted in her analysis for another moment before it appeared she was at least partially convinced. With that, she fixed her one last look of solidarity before turning back to her own Hamlet essay. She’d chosen to discuss why the titular character’s delay in action was his hamartia. His greatest failure. His fatal flaw.

Anne’s eyes focused unseeingly on the page before her as her mind began to dive deep, deep into the abyss of her subconscious. It had been exactly twelve days since that fateful encounter, on that crisp Saturday afternoon by the picturesque seaside. Anne was an impassioned, emotional, and wholly confrontational person by nature; very much an assertive individual. However, in spite of this, she thought she could also be decidedly introspective, and spent the last near fortnight channelling this particular trait of hers and forcing the more reactive side to take a seat.

It had all been so perfect, so effervescent, so… everything she could’ve ever imagined. How had it all fallen down, crumbling through her fingers so fast? Her heart still ached from the sting of betrayal she’d felt at Gilbert’s harsh accusations. Her eyes prickled at the memory of the way his had flashed in fury before closing off, hiding beyond an emotionless wall. Over the past three years, their relationship had been rocky, yes, but they’d come to a clear understanding of each other through trespasses, stolen glances, and their recent letters of transparent devotion. Or, she’d believed to be transparent.

It angered her, thinking about that letter she still had crumpled in her pocket belonging to The Globe. Gilbert had shown to clearly care just as intensely about the fight for justice and equality as her in their time together, and particularly in this past year. And yet… he had striven to broach such a frivolous topic with such a melodramatic, ill-timed fervency. How had he had the gumption to make such accusations and ask such things while she was so clearly rapt in distress, teetering on the edge of a precipice that would lead to an ocean of hopelessness? And then, _and then_ , why had it deemed it necessary to ask such things in the first place? Her and Roy? It was preposterous!

Just like that, the poet with melancholic eyes drifted to the forefront of her mind. In the past couple of months, he’d shown to be a sympathetic confidante, and talking to him was just like how she’d imagined Princess Cordelia would converse with her princely lover; all flowery language and expressive words. They got along thick as thieves, and had this grandiose ease that only occurred between two people of stark like-mindedness. They both liked the same things, both had similar ways of expressing their inner thoughts, and on the surface, seemed like a perfect match. Suddenly, the idea wasn’t so preposterous as it had once seemed.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she placed her pen down carefully in a rattling realisation. Gilbert and her were like water and fire; always at odds, neither quite stable with the other, steam rising as they fought. Whereas Roy was more sturdy, like earth, and they found a quiet equilibrium easily. So easily.

She’d always thought that her and Gilbert’s differences balanced each other out, complimented each other well, but now, she wondered if perhaps there was such a thing as _too_ different. Her vision blurred at the thought, and she quickly swiped at her eyes.

As if some cruel heavenly joke, the café door opened with a jingling bell, and she glanced up to see Roy walking in; a thick lavender-grey coat around his figure, dark hair slightly tousled from the near-winter wind. All in all, looking very much like modern-day Adonis.

His deep green eyes caught hers, and his lip quirked up in a fraction. She swallowed, returning the gesture with a raised hand, wiggling her fingers in greeting. She could feel Diana’s eyes on her, watching the brief exchange with a doubtful intensity. The slightly older man then took large, languid strides toward them, and in few motions, found himself beside their table. A few heads raised at his presence, flashing him polite smiles and waves, along with a few blushing grins from some of the girls. Anne could not find it within herself to blame them; he _was_ rather dashing.

“Good afternoon”, he said with a nod of his head.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Roy.”

“Afternoon”, Anne said, leaning forward onto the table to brace herself on her forearms. “What brings you by?”

“The trials of a Thursday before examinations”, he sighed, resting his gloved hands upon his hips. “Oscar Wilde - bless his visionary soul - is leaving me no choice but to find purchase in a large and dutiful cup of coffee in amongst my tempestuously sourced revelations of his works.”

“What on earth did he just say?” Anne heard Ruby hiss to Moody, to which her wide-eyed sweetheart simply shrugged.

Anne, simply smiled, nodding slowly. “Understandable, though I do trust you’re finding them to be revelations of the riveting kind?”

“Of course”, he replied deeply. “In fact, as soon as I have acquired this necessity, I’ll be off once more to continue my voyage. I suppose I should leave you freshmen, _and_ women, to your devices as such.”

She smiled, exhaling a sharp breath of laughter through her nose. “That would seem to be a most sound idea, given the extreme duress some of us are under. Best of luck to you, Roy.”

“And to all of you”, he dipped his head, sending Anne a quiet look before turning away.

“Bye, Roy”, a few voices called distractedly after; some of whose eyes were glued to their studies, others on the tall, dark youth.

Anne’s eyes trailed him for a moment, waiting until he was distance away before looking back to Hamlet. However, that was not before she caught Diana’s stare, burrowing deep into her being with inquisitive intentions. The raven-haired woman lifted a brow at her, dark eyes flitting between her best friend and the retreating figure she knew to be behind her. The relentless questions in her eyes felt heavy upon Anne, and she released a soft sigh, offering Diana a feebly pointed look before glancing back down at her notes. They were not questions she felt the strength to deal with at this present time.

Over the next hour, their tea arrived, the sun began to dip in the sky, and fatigue set into their young bones. Josie was barely stifling the yawns that threatened her beneath the surface, making her eyes water in the effort. Ruby had taken to leaning her head against Moody’s shoulder, delicate eyes fluttering with exhaustion. The gangly young man looked all too happy to have such a pretty dame using him as human cushion, if his soft smile was any indication. Fred was repeatedly cracking his gnarled knuckles, which earned him reproaching looks from Tillie, Jane, and Diana alike – though, the latter had a certain fondness in her eyes as she watched his calloused hands work meticulously.

Anne, despite the constant pinching of her wrist, felt miles away from her current position. The supple skin of her wrist was bruised like she knew the space under her eyes was, and her jaw grinded against the settling weariness; nevertheless, she imagined herself to be beneath the white summer flowers of her dearest Snow Queen. Yes, she was still studying just as allegiantly there as she would be within the confines of her college, but instead of the indistinct chatter and clink of china around her, she was surrounded by the soft calls of blue jays and robins, the sweet smell of the grass, the earth, the sky around her. It was peaceful, and not a single human soul besides her own in sight. For a fleeting moment, her mind brought her serenity. It was a quiet respite.

A scream erupted outside the café, and the daydream was indiscriminately shattered. Her eyes shot open at the sound, and consequent talk erupted around her as people scrambled up to see what the fuss was.

“Oh my goodness, what was that?”

“Sounded like a banshee!”

She rose from her seat just as her friends did, and they all exchanged glances filled with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. Ruby trembled, burying her frame into the crook of Moody’s encircling and protective arm. Fred’s warm chocolate eyes sought Diana, and with them his entire being; hands reaching attentively for her own. Anne’s bosom friend slipped her hand into his own, and they both turned to face the window. Anne, herself, was already out of her chair and heading toward the door with a cautious, but assured step.

What she saw laying beyond the safety of wooden structures and windowpanes shocked her to a standstill.

“Heavens! T-they’re Indians!”

“Right within the university? Oh, my stars!”

“Is a good Christian safe anywhere anymore?”

Back at the table, Tillie had begun to speak with a shrill tone. “Anne, she’s left her seat, where— _Anne?_ Anne, no!”

The others started calling desperately after her as well, but their voices were cut off by the closing door as Anne bolted out of the café and into the bitter cold. However, she felt not a shiver from the temperature, but rather the drilling fear building within her as she raced toward the middle of the courtyard. Her skirt was hiked well and truly above the bounds of propriety, but she could’ve cared less as only one thought was pounding in her mind.

_Ka’kwet._

She’d pictured many different tales in which she’d find herself reunited with the young Mi’kmaq girl, but never had she thought she’d really see her in this time nor place. She could scarcely believe her imagination would willingly conjure up something as brutal as this.

“Leave them alone!” she screamed breathlessly, frantic and wide eyes looking at the gathering crowd that seemed to be attempting to either run away from or corral her kindred spirit and her mother, Oqwatnuk. They were both running, she realised; though, the young girl had a paler, mottled complexion, and half-dazed look in her eyes that carried through in her lagging gait. Something sickening twisted in Anne’s stomach.

“Ka’kwet! Oqwatnuk!”

She was sprinting, wind whistling in her ears as she dodged around the various scared and angry faces in the courtyard. The wide-eyed woman ahead of her looked up at the calling of her name, and she found Anne’s searching gaze. She visibly whimpered, bringing her daughter in closer to her chest as she changed direction toward the young redhead, doing her absolute best to avoid the harsh criticisms of those around the pair.

“Filthy Indians!”

“Go back to where you came from!”

One man spat in their direction, and Ka’kwet, despite her clearly inhibited state, shivered against the action. Anne was _livid_.

"Stop it! Stop, just leave them be!” the scream tore through her throat, emotion thickening and stripping away the cords inside. She shoved passed a couple, ignoring their grunts of protests as she finally made it to the mother-daughter pair.

“Oh, oh my goodness”, she cried, reaching her arms to embrace the two.

“No!” Oqwatnuk shouted, face constricted as she shot an arm out against Anne’s own, blocking the path to her daughter. At the redhead’s perplexity, she just fervently shook her head, pain evident in her deep brown eyes. “No… No touch. No touch.”

“Why…” Anne breathed heavily, turning her gaze to Ka’kwet. The young girl was shivering, though a light flush swept across her features, peppering her forehead in beads of sweat that her short, matted hair fell in clumps upon. Her half-lidded eyes were looking at Anne unseeingly, mouth ajar as she panted and swayed on the spot. Small, red blemishes flared beneath the fabric of her grey dress, and that was when the jarring, horrific revelation hit Anne like a freight.

She looked back to Oqwatnuk, eyes brimming with a dying hope. It was crushed as soon as she met her watery stare, and with a gasping breath, she said, “She’s sick. She’s _really_ sick… isn’t she?”

The woman blinked at the unshed tears brimming in her eyes, and she nodded, lip quivering as she brought her daughter closer into her side. Her hand was rubbing fervently at her shoulder, eyes constantly flittering to the young, barely standing schoolgirl. _Former_ schoolgirl, Anne thought with a growl as she eyed the tattered grey dress. Her darling starfish would never set foot back in that abomination of an institute ever again… she’d make sure of it.

“Miss, please come away from the savages. You could get hurt!”

“That one _is_ a child, but… oh, they’re _all_ dangerous, aren’t they?”

“I heard some of them are _rabid_.”

“Somebody alert the sheriff; they’re trespassing.”

A torch lit with a snap inside Anne, and with trembling fists, she wheeled around, standing in front of the small family defensively. “What the hell is _wrong_ with all of you?! Have you all so completely lost your humanity that all you are capable of seeing is just some animalistic barbarians, not what is _clearly_ a desperate mother trying to help her sickly child?” Silence befell the courtyard, and Anne saw red, panting heavily with an unchecked fury brimming beneath her skin. “I _mourn_ for our nation if this is the type of blasphemous, inexcusable behaviour we elicit to our neighbours. Utterly _vile._ You all preach about being good Christians and servants of the Lord, but you blatantly disregard his most sacred laws. ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself’. Where is this love?! And, and”, she laughed disdainfully, eyes lighting up in a cruel grief as she stepped closer back to Oqwatnuk and her shivering daughter, “may I remind you all that we are not even their neighbours?! No; oh, no, no – we are _guests_ in _their_ house. If anyone is to be reprimanded for trespassing, it should be _us_. Had they been the ones with the overbearing technology and sheer organised power in numbers, they could have very easily been forcing their hand upon us and bending _us_ to disregard our own culture in sacrifice of their own. Yet, even if they did – and this I find to be the saddest part of all – I truly believe they would have remained as opening and accepting as they are now. If _anyone_ is to learn the ways of amending their own savagery, it should be _us_.”

Her throat felt course as she swallowed thickly, blinking back that emotion as she turned back to her grievously wronged friends. She began wordlessly herding them away from the prying, intrusive eyes of uncaring people, and back toward her boarding house. As they moved soundlessly through the streets, keeping their heads lowered and drawn close to one another, Anne’s mind began to race with questions.

How had Ka’kwet gotten out? What was she so terribly ill with? Had those ruffians with the guns provided any more trouble? How had they managed to travel across the stretch of sea? The rest of the tribe had moved on to a more secluded location; did Ka’kwet and her mother know where to find them? Where was Aluk in all this?

She thought to voice these bombarding queries, but after chancing a look over at her dear Mi’kmaq friends, decided to hold her tongue. They would tell her everything they believed she needed to know in due time; but right now, their focus was on getting to a more fortified spot of convenience.

They rounded the corners, walking quickly to best avoid the lingering looks of passing people, quick feet moving along the pavement with a singular one-track mind. In a short time, but not quite short enough, they arrived at the wrought iron gate of Blackmore House. Anne squeezed her eyes shut and hoped beyond hope that Mrs Blackmore had decided to not make the weekly round today.

A sudden, high-pitched exclamation from the porch rapidly quashed those hopes, and she glanced up to meet the fearful eye of her boarding mistress, pointing a shaky finger at the unusual trio making their way up her steps. “R-ruffians! Oh my—Indians! Heavens, I-I must call the constables! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, please, come to my side, away from the savages. Oh, shoo!” she screeched, waving about a broom in the drawn face of Ka’kwet, “Shoo! Away with you, now!”

“Mrs Blackmore! Stop!” Anne raised a blocking hand, standing in between the mother-daughter pair and the agitated head of house. The young redhead met her fearful eyes with a pleading severity, brows scrunched together in desperation. “Please… please, they are my friends. _Dear_ friends of mine. One of them is barely of twelve years… and she’s awfully sick with something. They’ve been through hell and back, I know it, and they just need a moment of respite. Please, _please_ may they just rest on the porch for a moment?”

The greying woman pulled back, ice-blue eyes flashing critically over to the pair of natives as she appeared to deliberate the situation. After an agonising moment, she shook her head, and Anne’s heart spiked. Before she could say anything, Mrs Blackmore stood tall, taking a step back with a look of finality in her expression. “I apologise, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, but I cannot in good conscience allow Indians into my establishment, especially one as sick as this”, she said, gesturing to Ka’kwet’s moaning figure. “It would not be right by my residents. Your housemates. Who knows what diseases these Indians have brought with them onto the property already? Speaking of such, you must send them away and come inside to bathe immediately. I fear you may have already contracted some ghastly ailments.”

“No”, Anne’s voice was shaking – she knew it to be – but she pushed past it and stepped away from the matriarch and toward her friends. Her head shook fervently as stared defiantly at the woman; she had abandoned them in their time of need once before. She would not do that again.

“Miss Shirley—” 

“You seem to have misunderstood my first words, Mrs Blackmore, so I shall make myself _abundantly_ clear this time”, her voice rang out, strong and true despite the scathing wobble that threatened to overpower her. “Ka’kwet and Oqwatnuk – _not_ ‘some Indians’ – are my friends, and I shall not leave them out to dry when every next person is waiting to beat them listlessly. I will stand by their side, and I will stand against all who say they are _any_ less deserving than anyone else. I will _not_ sit idle while their kindness and hospitality is exploited advantageously. If you refuse to offer refuge, I will leave with them and go about finding someone who will.”

Anne knew she was treading dangerous waters in her unbridled outburst, knew there was an increasingly high chance that she may have just snapped the tether holding her to the boarding house, but frankly, she couldn’t find it within herself to care. She stared defyingly at Mrs Blackmore a moment more until it became apparent the elderly woman had no words to say. With that, she spun on her heel, murmuring soft words to Oqwatnuk as she ushered them out of the gates once more. It was okay, she thought with an increasingly hammering heart, there was still one place she felt most welcome in Charlottetown. One place she knew she’d find a kindred spirit or two.

* * *

Promptly after helping Oqwatnuk aid Ka’kwet up the sandstone stairs, Anne steeled herself, striding purposefully toward the grandiose doors and used the knocker to call thrice upon them. In the eternity they seemed to wait, Anne kept darting her eyes back to where Oqwatnuk cradled her daughter, whispering some lullaby into her weary form as she smoothed over her short raven hair. The young girl whimpered unintelligently, closed eyes squeezing in obvious discomfort and pain. Anne’s eyes prickled at the thought of what her darling friend, so steadfast and fearless, had endured in the short months she’d been away.

In the few seconds, long minutes, or excruciatingly long days that followed, Anne finally heard the tell-tale muffled sound of leather shoes, and whipped around to face the door expectantly. She heard a click and it swung upon to reveal a person that had her nearly in tears.

“Rollings”, she gasped, surging forward, “you’re an absolute sight for sore eyes.”

“Miss Anne!”, the British gentleman said, stepping to meet her trembling frame with cautious hands. “My goodness, what has become you?”

She shook her head. “No, not me.” She stepped back, gesturing to the huddle of weary limbs and crying voices beside her. “My friend, and her mother. Ka’kwet, she’s only twelve, and I think she’d terribly sick. I tried bringing them back to my own boarding house, but it was to no avail. We—we have nowhere else to turn. Would Jo mind if they rested for a moment?”

His crinkling eyes widened substantially upon falling on the surprising pair, yet it was only for a fleeting moment before he turned back to Anne with a renewed sympathetic understanding. “Wait just a moment, Miss Anne, and I’ll retrieve her ladyship.”

“Thank you”, Anne managed to breathe out, turning to help Oqwatnuk cradle the increasingly weak daughter between her arms. The mother carried most of her weight, continuing to glance at Anne with eyes of warning, making sure she kept a safe distance away from Ka’kwet and her frightening blemishes. Anne could swear that hadn’t been that many when she’d first seen her…

“Anne? Oh, Anne!” a voice like _honey_ suddenly called out to her, and Anne turned to see the ward of house quite literally leaping down the stairs in leaps and bounds toward her.

“Cole”, she said breathlessly, his sudden presence coming to her like a warm summer breeze. It brought her solace, which was exactly what she needed to be thrust into a state of calm action. “Ka’kwet; she’s unbelievably ill and needs immediate attention.”

He nodded, green eyes lingering thoughtfully over the now severely limp Ka’kwet. “Rollings has just informed Jo and me; she’s on her way down now. Please, come through, into the sitting room. Lay her down on the chaise over there by the window. I’ll prepare some hot water and cloths.”

“Thank you.” Anne wasted not a second, turning then to help the weakened pair walk over the threshold and down the corridor. Fleetingly, she thought about how this was the first time Ka’kwet had ever been into a western-style home, a grandiose one at that, and that she wasn’t even conscious enough to be aware of it. Irony was such a cruel and fateful mistress.

They lowered Ka’kwet down onto the cushioned chaise, watching fearfully as the young girl curled in on herself, clutching feebly at her mother’s hand. She looked terrifyingly ashen, save for those ominous, angry blemishes that tainted her beautiful skin. Yes, Anne was terribly frightened, but she also couldn’t help the unflappable feelings of outrage lighting every drop of her blood. This should never have happened, nor would it have happened had Ka’kwet never gone to that… that…

School was a word she could no longer fashion to that despicable, condemnable place of ignorance and pain.

Delicate, yet hurried footsteps sounded behind her, and Anne whirled around to take in the refreshing sight that was Miss Josephine Barry, walking briskly toward her in an elegant, wine red gown. “Oh, my dear girl,” she cooed, reaching Anne and pulling her into a tight embrace with an unexpected strength, “oh, dearest Anne-girl, it has been too long, and I so wish we were reuniting under better circumstances.” She pulled away, a keen awareness into her twinkling eyes. “However, I am told there are much more dire shortcomings at hand, regarding this poor, little friend of yours.”

Aunt Jo, never failing to get to crux of the issue. Anne was eternally grateful for her pragmatic and unbiased attitude, but now so more than ever as she turned to crouch beside Ka’kwet’s sweat-beaded head. “She’s terribly sick with something, and we hadn’t the time to stop and figure out what we could do. We had nowhere left to go but here. I’m so sorry for barging in so unannounced like this.”

“Oh, no, don’t you dare apologise, Anne”, Jo tutted, walking over to the other side of the chaise as to inspect Ka’kwet’s withering features. “You are always, _always,_ welcome in my home, and I should never hope that you didn’t feel you could come to me in an hour of need. Now, what has the world put this poor angel through?”

What _hasn’t_ she been through seemed to be a more appropriate query, Anne thought with a barely-stifled derisive snort. Stealing a glance at the young, shivering girl, she wondered how much a person so young, so entirely innocent, could be subjugated to and endure before the world expected her to finally crumble. It was such a cruel expectation, and her clenched fists trembled as she thought over every face she’d seen curl a lip at anything different to their norm. For as many kindred spirits as there were, there was also plenty on the opposite end that wished for things so starkly incompatible.

Dear Aunt Jo was still waiting patiently for an answer, however, and Anne steeled herself with a breath. There weren’t enough hours in the day to name every shortcoming that had befallen the young Mi’kmaq girl, and she could speak listlessly about the innumerable injustices for a near eternity. However, she found it best – given the urgency of the situation – to settle for a bout of brevity. Time was currently and most irrefutably of the essence.

“I’m not sure of what you’ve been made aware of regarding the hateful institutionalising of indigenous education, but Ka’kwet has been attending one of these so-called ‘schools’ for the past few months. They’re horrible; an absolutely _disgusting_ exploitation of the trust of these children and their parents, and the students are treated as nothing more than clay the authorities can mould to their will. Stripped of their identity, their culture, and as of today, I believe their health is being equally disregarded. Ka’kwet ran away about two months ago, only to be brought back forcibly. Her father was injured in the process of trying to protect her.”

…She _attempted_ brevity as best as she could given her immensely strong feelings toward the situation.

“My word”, Josephine muttered, hand coming up to her mouth in horror.

Between them, Ka’kwet stirred and sounded a stuttered, shivering utterance of, “ _Tata’t.”_

Oqwatnuk whimpered, face screwing as she bent closer to her feverish child to whisper softly in her ear. Anne and Josephine watched on with quiet, sorrowful trepidation.

“The dear little lamb”, the elderly woman cooed, pressing a hand to her chest, “how life has dealt you the most riddled cards.” She turned to Rollings then with a purposeful tenacity in her eyes, posture straight and tall. “Take Hamilton and the carriage and drive as swiftly as that gelding’s legs can carry him. Drive fast, drive true, drive straight for Doctor Ward. As reprehensible as it is, I believe him to be the only one who can help our agonised friend here, and the only one willing to do so. He may be our only hope.”

“Right away, madam”, the butler bowed accordingly, before walking off with a speed that Anne had never seen him possess prior to that instance.

At that moment, Cole came rushing back, carrying an ample supply of towels and cloths in his arms, as well as a pail full of steaming water. He settled beside the chaise without so much as a word, dipping the fabrics into the liquid and tentatively dabbing at the trailing drops of sweat falling across Ka’kwet’s features. Oqwatnuk gestured toward the pail, flickering imploring eyes at the hot liquid beside Cole. Sandy brows furrowed momentarily before lifting in realisation, and he lifted it over for the indigenous woman to lower another cloth into it and mimic his actions on Ka’kwet; all the while, the young lay in a shivering heat, face screwed up and twitching discomfortingly.

Anne’s chest tightened in a fear she’d feared most of all in her years: the fear of losing yet another dearly important person.

She’d hardly realised she was shaking until she felt knobbly and wiry, yet firm hands grip her shoulders, pulling her away from the precipice. “Come, dear heart; we’ve done all we can for the time being. You’ve done incredibly well to aid such an invisibly wonderful friend, but now, you must come wash yourself.”

“Aunt Jo—”

“It would not be wise to reduce your commendable efforts by allowing yourself to contract the same infection plaguing young Miss Ka’kwet.” Anne’s mouth silently stuttered, shoulders tensing as she flashed her storm-blue eyes conflictedly toward her younger friend. Her younger friend, who lay _suffering_ as a result of the damnable hands of the supposed educational caregivers of the school. The school in which Anne had _adamantly_ encouraged Ka’kwet to attend.

Lord, she felt as though she were about to be sick.

“Anne”, Josephine’s voice called through the fog, bringing her startling equilibrium from the dizzying spin her mind was currently pacing her through. Turning, she looked to see the old woman fixing her with a fond, but stern and affirmative gaze. “It does no good to one’s ability to act rationally if they allow themselves to fester in guilt-driven questions; it only impedes upon them, thus manifesting an even less desirable scenario. Do not allow your strong mind and brave heart to fall victim to such interrogation, but to _rise_ above it. Your friend requires you to”, she asserted, drawing Anne’s attention briefly back to the three figures hovering around the chaise.

Bracing herself, she took in a deep, stuttering breath and fixed Josephine with a faux look of determination. She would mask her true feelings with false bravery until she truly felt she could be feel it.

As though sensing a change, Josephine nodded with a tight-lipped smile, bringing an arm around Anne’s middle into a comforting embrace, rubbing comfortingly as she said, “And now… all we can do is wait.”

* * *

There had been a palpable tension in the house as soon as Doctor Ward had laid eyes on his awaiting patience. The moment in which he stood and stared seemed to last an eon, and Anne wanted to just scream at the man in the hope it could propel him to just _move_. The overwhelming relief from when he had set down his bag and begun to unload it elicited a sigh from all, and all of a sudden, Anne’s body began to sag with weight of all that had transpired.

“Anne, darling”, Josephine called from the dining room, “could you please assist dear Oqwatnuk to the washroom and show her where everything is? Doctor Ward needs the entire sitting room cleared for himself and Ka’kwet.”

“Yes, o-of course.”

The redhead leapt into action, hurrying over to an exhausted and downtrodden-looking Oqwatnuk, whose eyes seemed to be in a constant state of being half-lidded. Dark bags hung from underneath her deep hickory orbs, and lashes fluttered as her head bobbed sporadically. With hushed tones, as though approaching an injured animal, Anne helped the woman to her feet, keeping a supportive arm at the small of her back at all times. Carefully, she guided the dazed creature carefully and slowly forward, blindly leading her toward the lower level washroom.

An extensive mirror, framed with an intricately sculpted and sinewy arch, encompassed the wall behind the taps and sinks. Flashing her an encouraging, sympathetic smile, Anne brought Oqwatnuk over to the basin, stabilising her beside a stool before she began to run the tap.

The silence stretched on agonisingly, and Anne longed for something, anything to talk about. Even if it was primarily to keep her friend’s mother’s worries at bay momentarily. She busied herself with wetting the cloth there with the alcohol that had been left beside it, courtesy of Cole, and going over to dab the substance over the woman’s hands.

“Doctor Ward is very good. Um… _Malpale'wit_ … Ward”, she said, pointing in the general direction from whence they came, “ _Negm natawa'qa'latl npisun_. _Sangewite'lm'g.”_

The Mi’kmaq woman appeared completely lost to Anne’s words, lost to the world they were in, and fear wrestled in Anne’s stomach as she swayed slightly, as though nothing more than a leaf in the breeze. The young girl swallowed thickly, eyes darting over her wrought features as they stared into the void. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to herself, allowing silence to blanket them once more as she made haste in rinsing Oqwatnuk of all possible traces of the infection. Once she had completed her task, and repeated the meticulous actions for herself, she came back, nestling at the foot of where the fading woman sat and took her hands in her own, holding them fervently. Perhaps her grip had been a little too strong, but nevertheless, it forced the older woman to return to Earth and meet Anne’s intense and determined gaze.

“She will be okay, Oqwatnuk”, Anne insisted, locking the mother’s eyes within her own. “Ka’kwet… she’s a fighter through and through. She is exactly as her namesake envisions hers; a starfish, born incredible, unique and resilient. She has persevered through tribulations before, and she will do it again with this.”

Anne was beyond speaking their native tongue, barely able to construct words of her own language together, but she prayed beyond prayer that the message seeped across. However, a choked sound bubbling from the woman before her halted the yearning inside her, and immediate concern blossomed in its wake. She’d barely leaned forward to comfort Oqwatnuk when the indigenous woman began to cry out.

She tried to listen, she truly did, but the words were muffled through the strain of tears and body-wracking sobs. Anne leapt up, shuffling around to wrap her arms around the inconsolable woman in an attempt to ease her pain. As she wailed and screamed, Anne managed to recognise a few words and phrases of the language she’d come to learn: white men, soulless, a sense of failure in her duties, something about an overbearing sense of hopelessness, the unbreakable ties of family, the stench of death, her daughter, her children, her husband, pain, pain, pain, when would the pain stop…

It tore Anne apart from the inside to see this courageous, inspirational, kind woman absolutely shattered in misery.

“ _A-Aluk… Aluk, nplgoqom…”_ she choked out in amidst a sob, voice breaking as her head came to rest on her knees, fingers shaking as they gripped her matted braids. “ _Mesgei'… Aluk… Oh, Aluk…”_

All of a sudden, the air was sucked out of the room as an overwhelming question hung in its stead. One Anne wished not to ask, but knew she must.

“ _Oqwatnuk_ ”, Anne began, gripping her shoulders fiercely as a fear clawed at her insides, “ _Oqwatnuk… tale'g Aluk_?”

Her shuddering gasps were gradually reined in, and Anne rubbed her back as it heaved with the difficulty of controlling her own breath. Slowly, but surely, she came to something reflective of a rest, though the lingering fatigue emanated off her in waves. A beat passed, and when she spoke, it was with a low and hoarse voice, and fragmented words that came together like a half-formed puzzle. “They met him with the lightning sticks… at the school front. Ka’kwet… we heard her illness, and Aluk, he… he rushed in at dawn-light. I-I could not stop him. There were too many… he sent Ka’kwet to me, ‘go. Run, my loves’… and the lightning hit him… right here”, she trailed off, pointing a shaking finger square in her chest.

Anne felt the beating within her own come to a shuddering halt.

No.

“He fell like struck pine… beneath their feet.”

No, there was no way that…

“And—and Ka’kwet did cry, but we ran…”

They couldn’t have…

“And never look back.”

Her knees gave out and the floor met her jarringly, but it felt muffled; hazy in contrast to the overwhelming pain now expanding in her chest. Every part of her was shaking; her eyes, staring blankly at the ground before her as the reality flooded her senses. The one thing grounding her was her hand upon Oqwatnuk’s knee, now squeezing securely. Horror, in every essence of the word, sunk into the growing pit in her stomach, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

All he had wanted was to be reunited with his daughter.

Her breath came out in short, sharp gasps and she clung to Oqwatnuk like a mutual lifeline. Her other hand, laying across her thigh, fisted into the cloth of the dress, and she had an inexplicable desire to just rip it, to tear it shreds. To break something, _anything_.

Oqwatnuk’s cries were muffled, quiet, like a mere breath of heartbreak into the wind. Suddenly, Anne felt as though she couldn’t touch the mourning woman anymore, like she wasn’t worthy to. She felt dirty, disgusting, and the one thought that plagued her mind as she sat on that cold marble floor, tears laying dormant in her misted eyes, was that this was… all her fault. If she hadn’t so strenuously insisted that it was in Ka’kwet’s best interest to attend the school, she may never have gone. She probably wouldn’t have, given that despite her revolutionary mindset of open trust towards colonisers, there were none she trusted more than Anne. Anne had been the one to condemn her to her fate, and led to the ultimate and entirely untimely demise of her father. Guilt gnawed at her stomach, and her fisted hand moved up to clutch at the suddenly constricting corset. The moisture in her eyes dared to trickle down, and she wiped furiously at them. She had _no_ right to cry, not a single drop. This was all her doing…

“Anne?” A knock at the door frame sounded, dragging her back forcibly from the precipice she threatened to spill over, and with a shaky, ragged action, she turned her head to look. Cole stood there; mossy eyes wide with concern as he gazed over the forlorn pair.

Anne forced her the lump in her throat to dissipate as she spoke, hating the way she sounded choked saying, “How is Ka’kwet?”

At the mention of her daughter, Oqwatnuk looked up, eyes filled with red fissures, rimmed with a dark hollowness. She looked beyond exhaustion, yet that singular name seemed to revive her in the slightest of ways, as though bringing her back in the possibility of there being hope and light in this situation. It was truly admirable.

Looking back at Cole, Anne studied his features. His eyes darted away, flickering to and fro as though it was a great task to keep the aversion, but something he needed to go regardless. His Adam’s apple bobbed, then, sucking in a stilted breath, he said with a forced stability, “It’s… It’s probably for the best that you hear Doctor Ward’s diagnosis firsthand. He’s just come from the sitting room. He’s conversing with Jo and Rollings outside.”

Swallowing her own afflictions, she breathed in deeply and rose to her feet, resting a steady and sure hand against Oqwatnuk. “Thank you. We’ll come now.”

Aiding the woman to her feet was a trying task as she felt like dead weight in Anne’s arms. Her eyes were tunnel-visioned ahead of her, as though all the world had fallen away but the prospect of reaching her ailed daughter. Anne, not dissimilar to how Oqwatnuk had guided Ka’kwet, whispered small words of encouragement and solidarity as they began the march along the foreboding hallway, moving directly to where Doctor Ward stood beside two of the mansion’s inhabitants. The middle-aged man was writing something down on a paper, and the lines of his face furrowed deeper than usual. Anne forcibly propelled herself and the woman at her side forward, not allowing her a moment to think and flinch.

When he lifted his gaze to hers, a heaviness settled into the air, and his shoulders seemed to sag with it. He sighed, placing the paper on a nearby cabinet. His hands wrung together, and when he stepped forward, it was with notable caution. The growing pit in Anne’s stomach was now a void.

“Miss Shirley Cuthbert, uh… Mrs Oqwatnuk”, he began sombrely, gesturing toward each of the women, “I am… I’m afraid I have some… grave news.”

_No. No, no, no._

“Miss Ka’kwet has quite an advanced infection distressing her body in the form of tuberculosis, or what is more commonly referred to as consumption.”

Consumption. Anne’s breath hitched. She remembered that word being passed around during the winters at the orphanage when she found herself there rather than hired out. Panic, sorrow, and a misled sense of inconvenience often followed it, along with the mentions of quarantine. Children would be entirely sanctioned off, and many who were mentioned to have it were last seen with a chaplain walking into their room, words of farewell murmured in hushed tones emanating from their rooms. It held the image in Anne’s mind of a one-way ticket to the heavenly gates above.

He sighed. “Unfortunately, there is little I can do for her here, as the disease is quite heavy already in her lungs. Normally I would suggest taking her to a sanatorium – the nearest one is quite a distance, found by Muskoka Bay in Ontario – but…”

“But you doubt they would be willing to treat her”, Anne filled in the blank, staring weightily ahead. Anger pulsed in her head.

There a notable pause. “…Yes. As unfortunate as it is… There’s nothing I can do for her… I’m terribly sorry.”

“Oh, dear, no…”, Jo muttered, eyes squeezing shut against the words.

Cole sighed shortly, gritting his teeth as his arms crossed and he shifted on the spot.

Anne was shaking now; fury and despair and hopelessness clawing at her innards, and she didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry or punch the nearest wall. Her ears were ringing and she hated it, but she didn’t know what to do.

“However”, the doctor started cautiously, eyes flickering around the despondent room, “I have reason to believe that there may be hope… found within her own people.”

As the wide-eyed, quizzical looks, he raised his hands haltingly. “I can’t be affirmed in this, but Gilbert mentioned to me in passing the affects he’d seen of Indian medicine.” Anne refrained from jolting at the name, but she could’ve sworn Doctor Ward’s eyes passed over her meaningfully. “He said he had seen firsthand how they utilised the land in ways that our modern medicine hadn’t yet ventured. Perhaps… perhaps there may be some sort of cure their own physicians would know of that could, at the very least, treat Miss Ka’kwet’s symptoms; in particular the infection in her lunges and the skin lesions forming on her neck. I think it best she returns to her people.”

Anne’s grip unknowingly tightened around Oqwatnuk’s waist, bringing the feeble woman closer. So much was out of place; the tribe was based near Avonlea, which would involve getting a sick child and her mother onto a train of probably unsympathetic and judgemental townspeople – and that was even assuming that the tribe were still located there, Anne thought with a grimace as she painfully recalled how Aluk had made mention of uprooting their camp and moving to a more reclusive location. The odds were hardly in their favour, yet… it was still their best option. Their only option.

Steeling herself with a drawn-out, chilled breath, Anne turned to the woman tucked under her wing, rubbing her arms for the sake of her comfort as much as her own. “ _Oqwatnuk… Malpale'wit Ward gina'sit nepilatl… ejela'latl._ ” Cole came up on Oqwatnuk’s other side as the woman heaved a shuddering gasp, hushing her softly as he supported her weight. “ _Gatu… piltu'lugweieg. Getlams'tmeg pipanim nujinpiteget wiquaq apoqonmati._ ”

Anne watched as the cogs worked in the mother’s mind, her dulled eyes springing to life as she processed the information relayed to her. Her brows furrowed over rapidly blinking eyes; lips pursed as she looked from side to side. After a moment, she took in a deep sigh, allowing the air to fill her up and puff her chest. There was a pause before she said with a renewed determination and inkling of hope, “Okay. I will take her home.”

Lifting a hand up to rest between her shoulder blades, Anne brought the noble woman’s gaze back towards hers. Her eyes glistened with emotion and a determination that the young redhead felt mirrored in her very core. There wasn’t much she could do, but what she could, she would see through to the very end. “You won’t have to do so alone. That I swear.”

* * *

In the four and a half hours it had taken to escort the troubled pair back home, layered generously in various coats and scarfs Josephine had bestowed upon them, Anne doubted whether or not she’d taken a full breath. The jeers, snide looks and comments they’d received on the carriage had been nearly unbearable, and Cole had had to quite literally hold Anne to her seat as she threatened to retaliate upon one specific, uncouth phrase. It felt like her blood had been the detonating cord of a wad of dynamite the entire, agonisingly long train trip; her heart had clenched when she imagined what it must have felt like for Oqwatnuk and Ka’kwet.

Her fists had clenched, shaking in fury when Rollings had to pay a cab driver double the usual fare to deliver them to the outskirts of Avonlea, but the stoic Brit took it in his stride. However, Anne didn’t miss the way in which his chin tilted up scornfully; nor the shake of Josephine’s head as she climbed into the carriage, or Cole’s unwavering glare. It seemed charitability was a concept lost on some people.

Solace had only arrived when they had at the camp, euphoria blossoming as a smile on Anne’s face when she saw the tell-tale smoke of a bonfire ahead. She’d ran, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her to cluster of wigwams and overlapping voices. The stakes and multiple production lines of arrows were not lost to her, nor the gasps of retreating people, but she paid no mind as she ran straight for Aluk’s mother. Guilt sunk its terrible claws back into her, but she ripped them out as she explained the situation unfolding upon them. Men and women, catching the names they’d not heard in so long, ran toward the fumbling Oqwatnuk, held upright by a rather startled Cole. Ka’kwet, who was draped in a blanket and held tightly in Rollings arms, was brought hastily to a particular tent by the medicine woman’s rapid and intense tone.

Anne finally sighed when she saw the young girl laid down, surrounded by a myriad of blankets and the careful hands of the medicine woman. She had been about to exit and move toward Charlottetown again when the older woman stopped her in her tracks with magnanimous words of dexterity. “Do not fear, Strong and Brave Heart; our Starfish is a fighter, and will not succumb to this white man’s disease. I will not allow it.”

Halted by the concise eloquence of the woman’s native language, Anne had only been able to manage a nod, flashing one last look at the feverish girl before fading away.

Now, as she sat on the rickety, near-empty train that shifted across the cliffside of Prince Edward Island, Anne found herself gazing out at the impossibly dark night sky. The sun was beginning to set much earlier, and they’d executed most of their mission in the shadows of moonlight. Stars glittered in the curtain of navy, wisps of constellations weaving through the spattering of random groups. The high-pitched whine that came from a howling pack of coyotes was the only sound that coupled the steam locomotive’s chugging along the tracks.

A snore suddenly echoed from the curve of her neck, and she glanced down with tired eyes to see Cole’s unkempt sandy hair falling across his face, cheek squished against her shoulder. A small amount of drivel trailed down from his ajar mouth, and she snorted softly as a little drop fell onto her jacket.

“I noticed that sleep hasn’t been coming to him easily, as of late.”

Her head whipped up to where Josephine sat across from her in the booth, ice-blue eyes resting on her young ward with undeniable affection. “He’s got an inner strength, and great deal of empathy for others that I wish I could possess, but the lamb is quite terrible in regards to his own wellbeing.”

Anne hummed in bittersweet agreement, glancing back down to where the ridiculously tall boy was nestled in the crook of her neck. Only now, painted in the soft light of overhanging candelabra, did she see the dark circles illuminated under his eyes.

“Cole sought refuge in me as he saw a kindred spirit, someone who bitterly understood his plight. He’d spent a lifetime thinking himself abnormal, abominable… things a young person should never have to believe”, she sighed. At once, Anne truly saw the biological age of this free-spirited and young-at-heart woman. “In his time with me, I hope I have groomed him to have a sense of self-pride and worth, and to see his own worth beyond that of whom he finds love; yet I deeply fear that when I eventually depart to be reunited with my dear Gertrude in peace is when his troubles will only just begin.”

Anne gulped, brushing a delicate hand over his gloved ones that laid knotted in his lap. “He’s already having to face such troubles, isn’t he.”

It wasn’t a question; they both knew it to be true. Josephine sighed, shifting beside Rollings as he quietly rested. “Accepting who we are, and having others accept who we are, are two very different obstacles to overcome. Cole is beginning to discover this as he explores this newfound relation with Alastair.”

That particularly piqued Anne’s interest. “That… that boy from the college soirée?”

Josephine smiled. “The very same. Cole has found someone like him, who feels the same as him, and my heart couldn’t be happier for him if became the next da Vinci. Love is wondrous and tumultuous and storm of never-ending emotion; which I am very certain you can attest to”, she quipped with a quirk of her brow.

Could she ever.

“They remind me so fondly of those early years with Gertie – oh, the fun we had. Just tumbling balls of nervous energy, floundering in the chaos of young love, entirely unsure of everything around us, but entirely certain that we were right. ‘Us’ was the right notion… It’s a wonderful, exciting world, but it can also be terribly unkind and unforgiving. We knew that, and oh, did we face it. I’m reminded daily that while Cole and Alastair are perfectly perfect within each other, the world may disagree; and unfortunately, as men, they will face hurdles in their relationship that I cannot understand, nor help. I can only hope and pray that the highs outweigh the lows.”

Anne’s vision had begun to fog, unbeknownst to her, and she quickly wiped a sleeve at the treacherous moisture that she would not let fall. Swallowing the emotion in her throat, she steeled herself and fought for the right words.

Her head shook, and she hated the choked way in which her voice sounded as she said, “I just… I don’t understand it. I-I _can’t_ ; plain and simple. It should go without saying that people can be who they want, be _with_ who they want, just… exist as themselves unabashedly, without the fear of being disregarded by something they have no control over. As long as it isn’t hurting any person, then what on Earth is the harm in it?” She took in a shaky breath, forcing her voice to keep from rising in volume.

Josephine regarded her with glistening eyes, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper, “That is the great query in life, isn’t it?”

Gritting her teeth and shaking her head, Anne continued. “None of them deserve this… none of them. They are nothing but kind, and inspirational, and talented, and smart, and they just—there’s no limit to what they could bring to the world if given the chance. And now, Cole’s being confined into this… this false state of normalcy, and Ka’kwet—” her voice broke again, and she sucked in another breath, “Ka’kwet is laying ill, possibly _dying_ , and for what? To drive out the idea of being idiosyncratic? And her _father_ … Aluk… he may not even know if he… if he sacrificed himself in vain…”

“Oh…” Josephine softly sighed, leaning forward to rest a hand on Anne’s knee, squeezing comfortingly as the emotion threatened to spill over the tenacious young woman’s walls. “He knows, dear heart. He does. And he is eternally grateful for all you have done for his family, all that _you_ have sacrificed yourself. _Never_ forget that.”

It felt like a laden lie on the young woman’s shoulders, but for a moment, for the sake of Josephine’s own heart, Anne nodded stiffly, covering her hand with her own. The rest of the train ride was in foreboding silence, and fleetingly, Anne wondered how in God’s supposedly holy name she would sleep that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Anemone: the flower of the Forsaken_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION:  
> Ka'kwet: Dad...  
> Anne: Doctor... Ward... He is very skillful in practising medicine. We can trust him.  
> \---  
> Oqwatnuk: A-Aluk... Aluk, my darling love... I'm so sorry... Aluk... Oh, Aluk  
> Anne: Oqwatnuk. Oqwatnuk... what's wrong with Aluk?  
> \-- -  
> Anne: Oqwatnuk. Doctor Ward has tried his hardest to heal her… but he cannot help her. But, however… there is something else we can do. We believe that the medicine woman of your home may be able to help her.
> 
> ...  
> well, fuck  
> ...  
> im sorry
> 
> (i torture YOOuuoUUOUUuuuu) IM JUST A SUCKER FOR PAINNNN 
> 
> I did have a tag for 'angst' attached to this fic right? just checking i did that?  
> again, im so sorry, but... yeah. like moira, i honestly couldnt see a way out for ka'kwet that was pain free. realistically, these kids in the residential went through completely unimaginable horrors -- some we may never truly know the full extent of. i feel like itd be cheating and dishonest to the story to be like 'YAY RAINBOWS EVERYONES HAPPY LETS ALL SKIP OFF INTO THE SUNSET WITH LEPRECHAUNS AND UNICORNS'. so, in the most serious way possible: sorry, not sorry.
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: anne gets heckin introspective and reevaluates what's most important to her. does she regain her brain? insane in the membrane? maybe?? find out next time *kisses*


	8. Purple Hyacinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After recent events, Anne finds herself in the deepest trench of despair; her friends step in and decide it is time for an intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys  
> ho boy... 2020 sure ain't here to play, huh?  
> i hope you're all safe and well, and not losing your minds to whatever state of lockdown youre in. i know ive come close to it xD  
> for those asking me to keep writing despite the fear around the virus, dont worry -- im absolutely going to keep on with this. if this story can help take even one person's mind off all the crap happening right now, i'm gonna keep writing <3
> 
> be well, be kind, and enjoy the story

“She’s _still_ in there?”

“Yes… Lily tried to breach her last night with food, but it was to no avail.”

“Oh dear, the poor thing. Has she said anything to you at all, Diana?”

“No… Not a word…”

“It’s so unlike her… Normally, she’s a lot more vocal and expressive about her woes.”

“ _Ruby_.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? I don’t know, girls… whatever she’s going through… it’s clearly weighing heavily on her. She needs us.”

“I agree, but when I ran into her in the washroom last night, she didn’t so much as glance my way. I don’t think she wants to see anyone.”

“This isn’t us offering our support, though; this is an intervention. It is not about what she wants, but rather what she _needs.”_

“Alright, well… Should we… knock and wait for an answer, or just invite ourselves in?”

“Maybe we should announce ourselves, make our presence known, and just outright tell her _we’re coming in!_ ”

“With the exceeding lack of elusiveness in this conversation, I’m fairly certain she is already aware.”

“… Oh. You make a valid point.”

“Alright, you’re all behaving with far too much frivolity right now. This is a sensitive matter that requires a response of equal sentiment. We must broach it tenderly.”

A fleeting breath of a sigh escaped Anne’s lips, and she screwed her already-closed eyes shut even further; blocking the faded sunlight that dared try pry them open. Shivers encased her body, and with shaky fingers, she reached across her shoulder to further pull the covers up her frame until only the top of her carrot head was visible to the outside eye.

Two days.

It had been just two, fragile days since Anne had nearly fallen apart at the seams under immense weight over all that had transpired. Friday had been a numb blur; one in which her body had forced itself to go through the motions of a regular school-day. One of her teachers had made a jest at how uncharacteristically quiet Anne was, to which most of her classmates laughed along. She’d managed nothing but a quiet smile in return, flicking her gaze back down to her masked notes on the spread of consumption throughout various First Nations peoples. During Biology and Mr Quinston’s usual derogative ramblings, the usual crackling fire in her chest was absent. Yet, in its stead, lay a dormant, rumbling volcano; deep, dark, and filled to the brim with vengeance, but lacking the ignition to truly erupt. Pris had glanced at her sparingly, concern evident in her caring, mossy eyes. Anne had hardly noticed.

Now, it was Saturday morning – perhaps early afternoon? She didn’t quite know, nor care – and Anne couldn’t find the will to leave her bed. It was as though her body was locked in place, and her mind dull; endlessly buzzing filling her ears with ‘what’s the point?’. She was so indiscriminately trapped within the depths of despair that even crying felt like redundant, feeble action.

She could be barely reconcile the abysmal way that everyone they’d come into contact with but the trio of the Barry mansion had acted. It was unfathomable; their behaviour despicable and ignorant in every possible sense of the words. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how many people reacted to difference – building a thick skin against the unjust taunts was a skilled she’d had to hone her entire, queer life – but rather… the sheer _extent_ to which they’d been perpetuating the situation. A sick child, her distraught mother; neither aggressive in any sort of manner, and acting just as anyone in their situation would, yet treated as though they were rabid dogs.

The worst of it, Anne thought with a grimace, was in how seemingly unconcerned Oqwatnuk had been by the excessively affronted manner in which people had reacted to them. Of course, Anne knew her main focus was obviously in the dire state of her daughter, but still… She hadn’t even batted an eyelid at Mrs Blackmore waving the broom and shrieking at her face. The thought sickened the young woman to her stomach.

Anne had come home that night like a wavering ghost, stepping over the threshold with hazy eyes and dragging feet. The girls’ hammering questions had fallen on unintentionally deaf ears, and the process of getting into bed had been entirely mechanical. The only conscious thought she’d had was in checking the coin count of Matthew’s stocking, assessing whether or not she had enough to make a trip back to Bright River in the near future. It had been Josephine’s transparent and fondly stern instructions to stay at home over the weekend – _“You have examinations coming up in the next week, if I remember clearly from Cole’s musings. Focus your time on those over the weekend; bury your head into those pages, and do well. You still have your future to maintain. Dear Ka’kwet will need time before she can have visitors, anyway._ – which meant that Anne was wholeheartedly determined to make the journey the weekend after. She would be scraping the barrel, but she should have just enough for a return fare.

“I wish Gilbert were here”, she thought aloud in a whisper, nose buried into the thick of her blanket. Immediately, her eyes snapped open. “No. No, Anne, do _not_ be so nonsensical. He is embedded within his medicinal studies. He is in _Toronto_ –- one- _thousand_ -and-fifty-three miles away. You only open your heart to disappointment if you wish for impossibilities.”

And of course, it was not the only reason it was impossible. She sighed, falling under the covers against, fervently ignoring overwhelming ache that threatened to break open her chest.

Never once in her life had she felt so utterly hopeless. When she’d suffered the torment of the orphanage, she held hope in her stories. When Marilla cast her out of the house, she’d had the ironclad desperation to rely solely upon herself. When Green Gables had been on the line, she’d had the will and drive to seek every imaginable way of saving her first home. When Miss Stacy was facing scrutiny and possible dismission, she’d had the sense of determined solidarity to her kindred spirit propelling her and her classmates onward and upward. When Josie had been so grievously wrong, she’d had the knowledge of personal experiences and power of language to persist. But now…

Now it was entirely different when it was beyond her own control. It was… hollowing.

She believed all those other times she’d claimed to be in the depths of despair, she hadn’t yet known what it truly felt like.

Time passed by, blind to Anne in her fog of indifference. At some point, she heard the gentle rapping of knuckles upon her door, followed by a tender voice calling, “Anne? May I come in?”

Anne allowed a moment for the world to sink back into her reality, pondering quietly before answering. “Yes.”

The handle squeaked as it was turned, followed by the soft creaking of the door as it slowly opened on its hinges. It was softly and silently closed, and promptly followed by the dainty patter of shoes against the cornflower-blue floorboards. Anne kept her eyes firmly ahead at the window, watching the light shift in the lace drapes. After a moment, she felt the mattress underneath her dip, and a hand placed atop the covers, just near her waist, rubbing gently through the material.

Still, she looked ahead.

“Anne”, the soft voice beside her spoke after a moment, “it’s almost time for afternoon tea. The others were thinking of making a trip to _Les Choix_ for those macarons that Fred and I enjoyed so much the other day. I… _we…_ were wondering if you’d like to join?”

Anne chuckled lightly, emotionless. “I heard you all outside earlier. I’m honestly surprised the whole army didn’t come breaking through my barricade.”

“ _Mm;_ yes, well, I proposed that espionage and practising the art of subtly may have been a more favourable approach, given the mission.”

She snorted at that, before sighing deeply, letting the air flow to her stale lungs. “Thank you for thinking of me, Diana, but I… I feel as though it would be best I stay home; stay _here_ … You’d all be better for it, enjoyment-wise, anyway. All I’d do is bring you all down into the murky depths with me.”

The hand upon her waist halted, pausing in its motions before holding her with a renewed resolve. A resolve that also shone through in her bosom friend’s voice. “I— How could you even _think_ that? I know you’re… dealing with something presently, but I feel like it would do you _so_ much good to come out into the fresh air, socialise with your friends! We don’t have near _half_ as much fun without you. Surely you must know that.”

“Yes… well… maybe my type of fun shouldn’t be further endorsed. It always seems to yield some catastrophe with it…”

There was a sigh, and a shift upon the mattress as Diana pressed closer. “Listen… I’m not the best when it comes to… appropriately dealing with emotions, but I can tell you’re deeply troubled. You haven’t said so much as a word to anyone since you came back after your mad dash off. You’ve hardly eaten any food, and you’ve barely left your bed, much less your room… It’s… it’s not _like_ you, Anne. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m… I’m _fine_ , Diana… I just don’t want to be around anyone right now—”

“Anne, _look at me_.”

At that, the young woman shifted in her bed, turning her head to finally meet her best friend’s gaze. Her heart stuttered at the sight; Diana’s dark eyes were wide, flittering between her own, and with brows drawn over them into a knitted cross. Her lips, pressed together in a frowning line, were thin, her teeth worrying at the jutting bottom one. Anne felt the rising reservoir of emotion coming close to its absolute capacity. She swallowed against it, forcing her eye to look into Diana’s steadily.

“What is going on? Please… talk to me. The last thing I want is for you to suffer through desolation on your own. You’re not alone, nor should you be.”

Anne felt the emotion collecting in her eyes, but looking at Diana, worry etched into every inch of her features, she knew she could not let it flood. She’d already been the cause of so much suffering, of so much pain, and she seldom believed she could bare it if that same situation befell her most dearest friend. No… she couldn’t do that to her. She refused.

So, she smiled. Quiet and soft on the surface, but it felt as though every muscle in her face was struggling to allow it to manifest. It hurt. Nevertheless, she said in a breath above a whisper, “Thank you for being the most incredible friend; I appreciate you more than words could ever eloquently express… but I’m okay. I _will_ be okay. I… I just need time. And space.”

The raven-haired beauty studied her for a moment, dark eyes scrutinising with a compassionate severity. Then, she sighed through her nose, shoulders sagging in the effort. It sounded like defeat. “Okay… I can’t force you to open up, nor I do I want to; but just know that I care _so_ deeply for you, Anne. You’re my only bosom friend, and you fill the deepest trench of my heart… but I understand if you do not wish to speak of whatever is ailing you. However… I would implore you to speak to someone who you feel you can discuss it openly with.”

The smile felt more sincere then as Anne turned to lay on her back. “I don’t know what I did in this life or the last to deserve someone as benevolent as you, but I am eternally grateful for it. Please, don’t let my own grievances hinder your own enjoyment. Go, have fun – I’ll be okay.”

Diana seemed to regard her for a few more seconds before sighing once more, leaning forward to place a gentle touch of her lips on Anne’s forehead. “Alright. Rest easy, read a book, take some time for yourself. You don’t want to be going into exams with a clouded mind.”

“Yes, _Mother_.”

“Watch your tone with _me,_ young lady”, Diana snarked back, smirking slightly as she jostled off the bed. “Lily’s currently doing some cleaning, I believe, so if you need anything, go to her. Also, if you _do_ happen to change your mind…”

Anne smiled, nodding. “I know. I’ll come find you if my heart allows it.”

Diana returned the gesture fondly. “Very well. We’ll be back no later than half-past-five, I should think. See you later.”

“Bye.”

With that, her best friend placed her baby-blue velvet hat upon her head, smiled once more, and whisked away out of the door. And suddenly, Anne was alone with nothing but her thoughts once more.

She huffed, staring up at the alabaster Victorian ceiling with her arms crossed over her body atop the covers. Her mind was so busy it felt numb, like there was droning buzz reverberating in her ears. Focusing on one simple thought felt like a futile ambition to strive for, so she let the buzz fill her senses to numb it all out. Her body ached with the burdensome thoughts that had weighed on her since that fateful Thursday. Lord, it felt as though it had happened eons ago, yet simultaneously still felt so fresh, as though she was stuck in a perpetual loop of the most harrowing moments. She sighed, bringing her hands up to rub her face.

Outside her room, she heard the twittering of a blue jay just beyond the window. Her hands shifted down from her eyes, glancing between her fingers to where cerulean lights darted in through the drapes. The twittering continued, and rather in spite of herself, she smiled.

“Well, hello to you, dear Laurie.” Grunting, she propped herself up and moved the covers off her night-gowned body. “I suppose it’s proper manners to come see you at the window.”

She placed her feet down onto the cold, wooden floorboards, wincing as the chill travelled up her legs – she’d have to start wearing socks to bed, lest she fall ill. Stepping gingerly, she made her way across the room toward the bay window, sitting in the chaise and shifting the drapes aside. She blinked as sunlight came streaming in, blinding in the cloudless sky. A whistle sounded beyond the glass pane, and she chuckled as the little blue jay flew to perch itself on the old oak outside.

“It’s so good to see you again, my feathered friend. So much has transpired since we last met.”

The little bird cocked its head in response, jumping across the branch.

Anne smiled, looking down. “I must admit… I’m rather envious of your position. To be able to _fly_ … such fulfilling euphoria it would bring. To not be tethered by earthly issues, to have the option to just leave, forget what you’re leaving behind… Though, I suppose would be hard for even such an intelligent creature as you, even more so a human.” The blue jay looked outward, and Anne followed his gaze. “You know… I once wished to be seagull. Forgive me, if that comes across offensive; it’s hardly my intention at all. You are the very _handsomest_ bird I’ve ever met, and I treasure your visits so dearly, but there is something about seagulls… You see, Laurie, where I spent most of my life, freedom wasn’t a known reality, but a mere far-off dream. Something I dreamed of day and night. _Yearned_ for… Sometimes, in amidst chores, or a small daydreaming session, I would cast my eyes out of the window, and see these little seabirds flying together, high above the trees below. They can travel nearly everywhere, and do so without a second thought. I feel they are the pinnacle of liberty.”

She paused, watching as Laurie busied his beak within his plumage, cleaning away at the feathers with a meticulous ease. “However, as the years have passed by, I can see that thinking I could ever wish to be seagull was infantile; not just because transforming into a bird is a thing of fiction, but my soul could _never_ be light enough to soar over oceans. I believe gulls mustn’t have regrets, nor terrible tragedies that would hold them down, whereas I… I have many…”

Anne drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. The blue jay twittered again, spinning around on the branch and shaking its feathers out in a display. Anne watched on, enraptured, as another bird flew up beside it; it, too, a jay, yet within a silver undertone to its iridescent blue. They cooed softly to each other, nestling beaks in the other’s plumage with quick yet soft strokes. After a moment, the silvery one took to the sky, and Laurie soon followed behind. They danced around each other, whistling in circles, as they climbed higher into the blue above, soon blending into it.

“Looks like you found your fish, sweet Laurie…” she murmured, smiling sadly. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

Casting her eyes back around again, she got caught in the mirror angled toward her, and stopped short. Good lord… she was looking positively heathenish: her hair, which hadn’t been brushed free of its haphazard curls yesterday, was now sticking out in tangents; her nightgown was entirely crumpled, and since Marilla had bought it preemptively for Anne’s changing shape, it hung loosely off one shoulder; deep, dark circles under her eyes were obvious, even from the several feet of distance between her and the mirror.

She huffed, shoulders sagging in the process. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you’re a right dishevelled mess… What _am_ I going to do with you?”

Sighing, she rose to her feet and allowed them to carry her over toward the length of her reflection. She ruffled her hands through the knotted curls with gritted teeth, adjusted the nightgown to resituate on her shoulders once more, and pinched as her cheeks, trying to get a rise of colour on their curves. After she gained some semblance of an acceptable appearance, she blew a breath through her lips.

Out of the silence, Diana’s words floated back into her mind: _“I would implore you to speak to someone who you feel you can discuss it openly with”._ Anne’s brows knitted. There was an obvious truth in her words; after all, Anne would have suggested the same thing had it been Diana floundering in the depths of despair. Still… she wasn’t too sure on who she could go to with her kind of dilemma; especially given the extensive content of it. Not many souls would have the capacity to understand her plight, nor her turbulent ramblings. She sighed, arching her back on herself as she pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind oh-so-helpfully replaying the scenes of Thursday like a personal torture pendulum.

She straightened up. Perhaps, maybe… maybe there was _one_ person she could seek out.

* * *

Anne’s teeth were chattering and her hand trembling as she brought it up to rap the knocker against the door. Winter, it seemed, had arrived particularly early, and the young woman could feel it chilling her down to her bones despite the three layers of upper-body clothes, and thick stocking she had on underneath her skirt. She crossed her arms across her frame, hoping to trap some of the fleeting warmth in her chest. Looking out behind her as she waited, she surveyed the bare trees lining the driveway to the house. It wouldn’t be long before snow began to arrive.

The sound of a clicking lock brought her back around, and she smiled softly upon seeing the person greeting her. “Hi, Cole.”

“Anne. Hello. Oh my gosh”, he said, stumbling out of his stupor and in to offering her an embrace. “Didn’t expect to see _you_ here so soon.”

She chuckled softly, burying her face into his warm, jacketed chest. “Couldn’t keep away. I hope I’m not intruding.”

He hummed a laugh at that, though it felt somewhat stilted. “I thought Jo made it clear to you that you are _always_ welcome here.” A pause followed, then by him pulling away to dart his eyes over her face. “Is everything alright? Have you heard anything of Ka’kwet? How are you holding up?”

“As eager as I am to answer your questions, could we please go inside? I think I may develop frostbite if I keep out any longer”, she said sheepishly.

“Oh, of course! Sorry – please, come right in.”

She nodded at him as they crossed over the threshold, Cole promptly shutting the door behind them. They exchanged a small smile then began walking toward the sitting room.

“So,” Anne looked over as Cole began to speak, “what brings you by? I would’ve thought you’d be buried under your studies.”

“Ah. I’m sorry to show up unannounced – _again_. And yes, well… I’ve had some difficulty in acquiring motivation, if you could believe it.”

There was a slight break before he said in a smaller voice, “I can certainly believe it… How’ve you been since… since Thursday?”

A sharp sting pierced her chest at the reminder, but she pushed past it with a deep breath. “I’ve —I’ve been okay. It is what it is, I guess… Is Jo here? I was actually hoping to speak with her today. _Not_ that I don’t thoroughly enjoy your company, of course”, she affirmed quickly at his raised brows. “I was just hoping I might be able to ask her some things.”

Cole was scarily perceptive, but she prayed today, he’d just leave well enough alone. She’d barely held out against the girls, Pris, and, the most difficultly, Diana; she hardly had the strength to maintain the crumbling wall surrounding her. So, she mustered every bit of equanimity possible as she met his level gaze.

However, his own attention seemed to be fickle, and it wasn’t long after before he nodded, glancing toward the stairs. “She should just be reading in her quarters; I’ll go find her for you. Just… feel free to just wait in here until we return”, he gestured toward the sitting room as they arrived at its doorway.

Anne blinked, then offered a single nod. With that, he pulled at the bowtie on his neck and turned toward the staircase, taking them two at a time with his ludicrously long legs. Anne watched him until he faded from sight then breathed in a large sigh, releasing it as she stepped into the grandiose room. Almost immediately, she was embalmed by its calming familiarity, breathing deeply through her nose and taking in the remnants of honeyed crumpets and old books. Rays of sunlight danced through the patterned drapes, and they drew her attention across the great expanse to where a few canvases lay propped in various states of decoration. Her eyes widened at the sight and she walked over, inquisitiveness spurring each step. As they became more transparent to her, a small breath fell from her parted lips.

“Oh, _Cole_ … you never cease to amaze me…”

Propped upon an easel, with a scattering of brushes and paints beside it, was the most serendipitous artwork she’d ever laid her eyes on. It wasn’t Cole’s usual forte of portraits; instead, pictured in what could only be near completion, was the resplendent countryside of her dear Avonlea. Most profoundly, it was the cliffside of the place of her deepest, most extraordinary thoughts and emotions. It looked exactly how she’d last left it, except more. _Irrepressibly_ more. It appeared he’d used every single colour available to him and then some. It was like a psychedelic reminiscence, with distinctive reeds of grass, endless blues and indigos and turquoises that extended beyond the frame of the painting; the sun, central to the piece as it gently lowered into the deep blue, casting everything in blinding beauty, creating a kaleidoscope of colour. The ambers, golds, and crimson colours surrounding the glowing orb swirled across the canvas in subtle, yet striking tones, mimicking the feathers of a bird. It was… _breathtaking_. An absolute masterpiece, if ever one existed.

Her hand came up to hold her locket, letting the cool metal anchor her as she felt more than she had in days. Her throat clenched, and she smiled through it; a shaky response in the wake of the earth-shattering revelation before her. She dragged her thumb over the curve of the heart, eyes still skimming over every inch as she tried desperately to ingrain it all into her mind.

A sudden bang sounded behind her, and Anne swore she jumped five feet into the air as she wheeled around to see the cause. Her breath stopped short as she took in the scene before her with wide eyes.

A young man, no more than a couple of years difference to Anne and Cole, sat in a crouch, picking up several spilled paint bottles. “ _Idiota! Nunca puede parar ser un torpe”,_ he hissed beneath his breath, shaking his head of raven locks disparagingly.

Coming out of the destabilising disruption of her reverie, Anne released a small “oh!” before dashing forward to the disarray of thankfully unbroken bottles. “Here, let me help.”

He looked up at her with big brown eyes. “Thank you very much”, he said, a sudden smile brimming on his tanned features. “You must be the famous Anne I’ve heard so much of.”

She blinked. “Y-yes, that’s me. I’m sorry, how did you…”

“Sharp but considerate eyes, face of wonder, and that beautiful red hair”, he pointed, grinning broad and white. “ _Lo sabia por el principio_. It’s nice to meet you, finally. I am Alistair.”

“Oh!” she said with a _very_ doubtable intelligence, blinking rapidly as her mouth popped open. She quickly forced a recovery and smiled openly back. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you too, Alistair.”

So, _this_ was the secret suitor that Cole had kept tucked under his wing, hidden from the world. And his friends apparently. Flicking her eyes quickly over his face, she could see the kindness extended beyond his wide chocolate orbs, and seemed to radiate off him in waves. His complexion was positively _golden_ , as though the sun itself had bent down from the heavens to lay a kiss on him. Full lips smiled around a toothy grin, showing a slight gap between his two front teeth that somehow seemed to tie all his handsome features together endearingly. Anne gave her best friend a silent round of applause in her head at having found such a blindingly attractive gentleman.

She chuckled, feeling the blush rise on her cheeks. “Famous for reasons that _aren’t_ deplorable, I hope?”

He smiled crookedly, shaking his head. “Cole had nothing but praise for you. I was beginning to think you were a, uh… _producto…_ ” he clicked his fingers; thick, dark brows furrowing over his eyes before they suddenly widened, “ _figment_ … of his imagination. I’m very pleased to see you are very much flesh and blood.”

With all the bottles gathered into their arms, they rose from the ground. Alistair smiled at her once more as they began walking back into the room and toward the easel. “Thank you for assisting me with this. I saw you in here and I was a little surprised by your presence.”

She winced sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I did arrive here foolishly unannounced, so that is entirely on me.”

“No, no, don’t apologise; it is no trouble at all. I am just so glad to finally be meeting one of Cole’s friends who is not an art school chum.” He chuckled breathily, placing the bottles down beside the Avonlea seaside painting. “Don’t mistake me; they are all very interesting, but some can get a bit… dreary? Depressing? Very low in themselves and the world around them.”

“I suppose I could understand that”, Anne chuckled back, looking to the side as she struggled to find words.

Thankfully, it seemed Alistair was not short on them whatsoever. “I am not sure what Cole has told you of me, but I’m studying to become an architect. The grand beauty of design, and how impressive it is that it is _people_ who can make such incredible structures. The Colosseum, the Sistine Chapel, my beloved Church of Santa Prisca de Taxco; they are all the product of a single mind’s design. It’s… there’s no English word for it… but it gives me a great sense of _duende.”_

“ _Duende”,_ Anne echoed, trying the word on her tongue. “What does that mean?”

He hummed, knitting his brows as he frowned. “ _Duende_ ; it’s, uh… the great sense of… awe and inspiration when surrounded by an environment. _Duende_ is overwhelming, and everywhere, and you feel it in your very soul.”

“Wow…” Anne breathed, eyes wide as she imagined that feeling. She knew she’d felt _duende_ before; very regularly, in fact, when she’d first arrived on Prince Edward Island. She transparently understood what he meant by everywhere – the awe, the complete and mesmerised euphoria she’d felt at first seeing the White Way of Delight, of lifting high above the ground on that hot air balloon. It was an emotion she revelled in, one she allowed to send her soaring up to the clouds with every breath of fresh air she took.

It was also a feeling she associated with dancing in a musty classroom, of sitting in utter tranquillity beneath the pale blue moon, in her entire world falling away except for a pair of hazel eyes caught inescapably in her own.

The dull beating of her heart reminded her it was a feeling she hadn’t felt in some time.

A small smile blossomed on her lips. “It’s a beautiful word.”

“ _Gracias, senorita”,_ he winked playfully and unabashedly. His expression sobered once more, and his eyes flickered over to Cole’s painting. “Cole looks for the poetic, pre-existing beauty of the world, and how to reveal it through his own eyes; I look at it practically, and to see what more it could become. In that way, we compliment each other, and build one another up.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy to see he’s found someone like you.”

He smiled unbelievably soft, eyes falling as he trailed a finger across the dry part of the canvas. “He didn’t tell you about me… did he?”

Anne’s mouth stuttered close, before shutting entirely as she looked at the young man beside her. His expression was pensive, yet heartbreakingly understanding. Anne felt her own heart falter in its wake.

Just as she was struggling for words, she was startled by the pattering of shoes behind her. It brought her spinning around on her heel, and she was welcomed by the sight of Cole’s wide eyes and Josephine Barry’s glinting ones. The elderly woman huffed, jabbing her ward in the side with a tut. “Just look at your poor sweetheart, carrying all your paints for you like an absolute saint. _Shameful_ , Mr Mackenzie; go on, shoo, and stop neglecting your beau. Anne and I shall be more than capable on our own.”

“Do not worry, Ms Barry”, Alistair grinned beside her, easily and immediately lighting up like a lantern once more. “I was perfectly content in getting to know Anne here. We were just discussing Cole’s latest masterpiece.”

The consequent blush on Cole’s face was positively _adorable_ , and he tilted his chin down as the unstoppable smile blossomed on his face. “I-It’s really nothing remarkable; just a memorable turning point in my life I wished to replicate.”

The man beside her chuckled heartily, and he walked over to gently rub at a spot of paint on Cole’s reddened cheeks. “Please; you speak too humbly of yourself, _mi corazon._ You are a true artist, and your craft is testament to that.”

“Thank you, cherub”, Cole said softly, looking down at Alistair like he was the only person in the entire world, and Anne felt her entire chest was going to explode.

Seeming to sense her heart palpitations, Cole’s eyes met her entirely fond and gleeful ones. They narrowed warningly, saying ‘try to tease me about this later, and you shall feel my wrath’. She smiled at that, knowing there was some definite justification in his suspicions, but she didn’t have the usual fire to actually put it into action; and after speaking with Alistair and watching the exchange unfold between the two boys, she felt as though she hadn’t the heart to do so either.

It appeared, however, that Josephine had no qualms whatsoever in taking the mickey out of the two young lovers, if her sly grin was any indication. “Alright, Anne-girl; before we develop a cavity from being shrouded in their presence, perhaps we should excuse ourselves to another room. What say you?”

“I say that sounds perfectly responsible, Jo”, the young woman replied, sliding her friend and his beau a knowing smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alistair. I do hope to see more of you around.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Anne.” His slight smirk mirrored hers as he slid his gaze over to Cole. “And I wholly agree; I’m sure we can make arrangements in the near future for that to happen.”

Watching Cole stutter unintelligibly under his breath was more satisfying than it should have been, but the two rascals nonetheless grinned as he floundered for words, shooting them both looks of begrudging uncertainty. It was somewhat warranted, if the saddened look on Alistair's face earlier was indicative in the slightest. Anne knew that was there own discussion to be had, though.

With that, Anne bid them farewell and turned, tailing after Josephine’s surprisingly brisk walk. They moved in anticipative silence, quietly making their way upstairs and along the corridors. The matriarch of the house sent her sparing glances as they turned corners, with a tight-lipped smile coupling each one. Eventually, they came to the great expanse of the ballroom, and Anne was fondly reminded of the summer soiree of years ago. Despite her tormented heart, she smiled, allowing the phantom music to carry her across the spruce dancefloor. Blinding following Josephine to the side of the room, they soon came across a pair of French doors. The older woman opened them gracefully, and they swung open on their creaky hinges to reveal a sunlit parlour that led to a small terrace. It was magnificent; the late-afternoon sun painting the entire space in alluring warm hues that could easily fool a person into believing it was the middle of summer, and not the nearing dead of winter.

The awe must have shown on her face, for Josephine hummed beside her, smiling knowing as she went to sit in a nearby lilac bergère chair. “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

“Very much so”, Anne breathed, still taking it all in as she positioned herself in a seat beside Josephine. “I feel as though I’m in being bathed in streamline of gold right now.”

“Hm”, she nodded as she turned her face, tilting it into the sun’s vitalising rays. Her eyes fluttered shut, basking in its glow momentarily before she said, “This was my Gertie’s favourite place in the _entire_ manor. She would come here and just play for hours, seeming to find the core of her muse in the encompassing energy of the room. The flute, I mean to say”, she affirmed at Anne’s quizzical gaze. “I would join her with my books, and it would be a companionable silence; that is until she randomly paused in her ministrations and turned to me to ask ‘have you reached the part where such-and-such meets their fiery doom yet?’. Mischievous woman”, she chuckled, glancing down at her hands. “I would often proceed to gently place whichever novel it was I’d just had spoiled for me before I came over to her, tickling furiously at her sides until she dropped her instrument. We were _quite_ the entertaining pair to behold – that much is certain.”

Anne could sense the ellipsis hanging in the air, so she stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. “When she… when she sensed her time was… drawing to a close, she spent as many of her days out here as possible – literally every minute she could spare…” She took in a deep breath, and Anne suddenly noticed the mist crossing her eyes. “Her lungs would not permit her to play anymore, so she asked me if I could just, please, lay beside her. To stay with her until the very end.”

Anne felt her chest constrict, and she leaned over to play a hand atop Josephine’s own trembling one. The elderly woman met her eye and smiled, breathing in deeply through her nose. They sat quietly, letting the only sounds be the chirping of swallows and the laughter emanating from downstairs. It was a sombre serenity; a bittersweet reality in which they both revelled.

After the haze passed, Josephine sighed deeply, and allowed the action to straighten her up. “She had a good, long life, though. We _both_ did, together. And, while I miss her terribly, and will continue to do so until the day comes that I reunite with her, I never regret a moment of it. It is nothing deep satisfaction and transcending love I feel when I reminisce of all our shared memories.”

A small smile was quivering on Anne’s lips, and she felt her own eyes mist over. With her free hand, she quickly wiped at them before turning back to Josephine with stoic compassion. “Every time you speak of her, I realise just how much of a remarkable woman she was. How I wish I could have met her.”

Josephine hummed a chuckle. “Yes, you two would gotten along famously.”

Another brief bout of silence follows, and it caused the temporary wave of emotions to flow away from Anne. She was beginning to feeling the wall tighten around her when suddenly, her mouth began to run inhibited from her thoughts. “Am I doing the right thing? Have I been doing the right thing?”

Josephine stared at her thoughtfully, ice-blue eyes softening their sharp pierce momentarily.

 _The right thing._ It was such a laughably broad statement, and Anne couldn’t have blamed her if Josephine hadn’t known quite how to answer. Heavens, Anne wasn’t even sure what she _meant_ by ‘the right thing’. Was there any particular mishap in her life she was drawing focus to? Was it her current state of despondency? Was it just the broader scope of her general existence?

“The right thing…” Josephine began, shattering Anne out of her small bout of panic. She seemed to be considering her next words thoughtfully. “May I impart you with an anecdote of wisdom, Anne?”

The redhead blinked. “Yes. O-of course, please.”

“When I was young… maybe another five, six years on what you are now…” she began, “my father attempted to wed me to the son of this landlord. Very wealthy man: our families had excellent ties. It would have been the union of the decade.”

“But… _Gertrude_ …” Anne grasped helplessly, already embedded in the drama of the story.

Josephine’s eye twinkled. “Precisely. I’d been hopelessly in love with Gertrude for the best three years of my life, at the time; and the thought of marrying anyone who wasn’t her, let alone a _man_ , was something inconceivable, and I seldom wished to consider. However, I knew that it would be the most practical, the most easy union to establish and maintain; whereas Gertie and I would spend our entire lives in hiding, never able to show our true affections in public the same way a woman and her _husband_ could. So… I forced myself to consider it.”

Anne was floundering by this point, mouth gaping like a goldfish. “But… but you… the books… Gertrude was… you two… I… _soulmates_!”

Miraculously, the older woman understood her incoherent ramblings, and smiled openly. “Yes. Thankfully, I came to an understanding about myself before it was all too late. You see, Anne-girl, going for what is easy, or practical isn’t what life is about. Life is about taking risks and changes, gambles at your own expense, tripping over and picking yourself back up again. It’s about finding the _excitement_ and drive within you, and surrounding yourself with people who ignite that passion within. The most treasured moments in life are the ones most worked for, the ones that are precured through dedication and determination. Settling for the low bar is acceptable some people, perhaps, but not me. Nor you, Anne-girl. _Never_ you.”

Anne listened, enraptured, as she continued to speak. “Everything in life happens for a reason. You may not always know what that reason is, but you can certainly make the most out of any trespass that becomes you. Of course, you can always let it weigh on shoulders, but growth is never achieved through carrying burdens. It’s achieved through acknowledging them, knowing them, and then letting them _go_. For us idealists, life is never supposed to be a stroll along the promenade. It’s constant struggle for perpetual bliss—”

“But that’s impossible”, Anne said, breath short in the weight of the words, and remembered a similar phrase she’d said months ago. “It’s the beauty in finding the balance.”

“Precisely”, Josephine grinned. “Life is a mountain range, and there are going to be times when you wish to give up; to throw down your trekking pole and succumb to the harrowing slope of the gradient. But when you do, just _imagine_ the view from the peaks, when you finally reach them. It’s incomparable, and that is why we hang onto hope until the final thread.”

Like a bolt of lightning square to the chest, Anne felt her body become electrified in the realisation. While she still liked to believe she held the same childish wonder she had back at the shiny age of thirteen, the passing years had brought the dousing reality of maturity. In recent months, it had been further wilted by all the travesties happening around her. She had lost sight of herself, and who she was.

The dark thrum that buzzed in her chest still remained, but a renewed sense of purpose and bright clarity reduced the shadows just enough for her to formulate a plan. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

Darting her gaze back to Josephine, she locked onto the wise, knowing gleam shining calmly on the surface. “Forgive me, but I have something I urgently need to do that requires the utmost attention.”

“I’d be surprised and rather concerned if you didn’t.”

Anne nodded, jumping to a stand as she began to button up her coat once more. Sparing glances at Josephine as she went, she said in whirl of word flurry, “I’m so sorry for making such a short and startling visit, but this really cannot wait another second. I’ve already wasted enough of those as is. I must thank you so much, Jo. You have helped me beyond measure, and I don’t think you truly realise just how much that is. It’s incomprehensible; truly. In my folly and hurry to maturity, I failed to see my own principles and take the time to truly maintain them. I will _not_ make that mistake again. Or maybe I will, as you say about the fluctuation of an idealist’s spirit; so instead, I shall say that I will make sure to persevere and recognise when I’m about to fall within my self-induced shortcomings.”

Josephine merely watched on in quiet amusement, as this eccentric, redhead ball of new-found energy whizzed about getting herself sorted. It didn’t take long with the rushed fumbling, and soon, she was running toward the French doors. As she was about to pass through them, she turned around, a powerful glint shining in the storm of her grey-blue eyes. “Thank you again, Jo. I owe you the world.”

“Think nothing of it, Anne – the only thing you owe me is to come here one day with nothing but tea on your mind”, she winked.

Anne genuinely grinned in response. “I wholeheartedly agree with that proposition, and I guarantee I’ll see it through. Have a lovely evening!”

“And you, Anne-girl!”

It was a mad dash down the stairs; Anne felt the already carelessly placed pins in her hair begin to shake loose. She was down in a matter of seconds, making certain to stick her head into the sitting room for a moment. Cole and Alistair stood before, laughing freely together, with a rainbow of paint covering their giddy expressions: Cole, an ambitious smirk on his face, as he brandished a threatening brush, amethyst coating its tip; and Alistair, who stood laughing with a wide, devilish grin, and hands coated in a cerulean and fuchsia. They were the epitome of earthly joy.

“Interesting use of creative license there, you two”, she chuckled, smiling at their suddenly startled expressions.

It took only a moment of Alistair to recover, and he burst back into uncontrollable laughter, wheeling back around to point at Cole’s dumbfounded expression with a wheezing breath. A few seconds later, Cole shook himself loose, smiling calmly at Anne. “Oh, yes, it’s a new artistic technique I’m hoping will flow into the mainstream. It’s abstract, but entertaining. In other words”, he trailed off, pointing his coated brush to the cackling gremlin beside him, “the definition of this boy.”

“Oh, ho, _ho, mi corazon!”_ said gremlin exclaimed, waving his dripping hands dangerously close to Cole’s face, “you clearly enjoy playing with fire, hm?”

“No! _No_ , you’ll drip it on the bowtie!”

Anne let out a bark of laughter at the ridiculous exchange, sighing deeply before she continued. “Alright, well, I can clearly see you are both _very_ preoccupied at the present, so I shall leave you to your devices. I must be off, anyway; there’s an urgent matter at hand that requires my immediate and total attention.”

“ _Adios, miha!_ We must meet again soon!” Alistair exclaimed, smiling brightly at Anne as he shoved his hands into his beau’s distraught face.

“I’ll see you around, Anne – that is if I haven’t been jailed for _murdering_ Al.”

Anne turned away, unable to speak through her own chuckles as she waved them goodbye. It was entirely wasted however, as the two were entirely reabsorbed in their playful brawl. She smiled fondly, watching them a moment longer before rushing out the door, her hand already itching to hold the fountain pen within her hand.

* * *

Breathing deeply, Anne let her eyes dart over the page once more. This was already maybe the seventh time in which she’d read over it, but she had to be sure of it. It had to be _perfect._

As she began to skim, she heard the tell-tale sound of giggling and hurried footsteps. She looked up from the letter, head turning toward the door anticipatively. Sure enough, the sounds began to quieten after a moment with obvious hushes before finally, a knock fell upon the other side of the door.

Smiling, she straightened up, sliding the letter underneath the cover of a novel. “Come in!”

The door opened slowly, creaking and shuddering on its hinges as it revealed the tentative expressions of Diana, Ruby, Jane, Josie, and Tillie; all huddled together like a pack of groundhogs. The sight caused Anne to release a snort, and she waved them in. “Stop loitering – please, come in.”

They all looked to each other, slightly unsure, before Diana finally took a step and the lead, walking carefully into the room with a small smile on her face. The others followed suite, and plopped themselves gently onto Anne’s bed, watchful gazes studying her as she sat at the vanity desk.

Diana, who, after studying Anne for amount, had a less guarded expression than the others, spoke first. “How are you feeling, Anne?”

The smile that subsequently blossomed on her face came willingly and naturally, and she nodded. “I’m still somewhat lost and saddened, but… I’m beginning to find myself again. I’m sorry if I worried you all with my unusual behaviour these past couple of days.”

“No; don’t apologise”, Diana stood, expression earnest as she walked toward her bosom friend, coming down on her knees to kneel at the base of the chair, “It’s our job to worry, and we were only worried because you seemed so entirely down on yourself. We hate to see you so despondent because you _are_ such a naturally bright and enigmatic person; but of _course_ you’ll have moments when that’s impossible to maintain.”

“Which is when we’ll step in to support you until you can stand proud again”, Josie said and began walking to join Diana.

“Exactly! You know you can talk to us about anything, Anne”, Ruby urged as she too bolted to her feet and came to hold the redhead’s hand.

“We may not always understand, but I promise we’ll try to”, Tillie nodded.

Jane smiled, getting to her feet and walking over behind Anne to wrap her arms around her. “That’s just what friends do, Anne. That’s what friends are for.”

Anne’s heart stuttered under the heavy display of affection, and her face split into a wide and wonderful laughing smile as she tried to reach every single one of her friends. “Gosh, you’re making me tear up, which is precisely what I’ve been trying to avoid”, she chuckled, swiping quickly at her eyes. “Thank you all _so,_ so much. Honestly, I… I’m quite easily the luckiest girl to have such phenomenal as you. Oh goodness, my heart feels so full…”

Her eyes found Diana’s as the girls cooed, drawing her close in a tight embrace. Her dark eyes were deep and sharp, brows knitting questionably above them. ‘ _Are you positive you’re alright? We can talk privately later, if you prefer’._

Anne’s lip quirked up quietly, and she blinked slowly in response. _‘I am, but I would still love that talk’._

The girls crowded her in words of adoration, and Anne couldn’t help her eyes flickering over to where the letter lay waiting her return. Diana must have caught her wandering gaze, for she stood up purposefully, hands held at the front of her skirt. “Alright, come on, everyone; let’s not bombard her just now. I think Anne has some pressing matters to attend to, considering she hasn’t left the confides of her own mind to focus on her studies.”

They all winced, looking at Anne and the mountain of textbooks beside her with sympathetic gazes. Pulling away, they took turns in patting her or supplying words of comfort and encouragement before heading toward the door. Waiting until they had all gone through, Diana then smiled, turning to Anne with a serious face. “Did you find someone to speak with?”

In perfect serenity, Anne nodded. “Yes… your aunt, actually.”

Diana’s eyes widened before she snorted lightly, shaking her head. “I’m beginning to think she’s just as much _your_ aunt as mine, now.”

“I _certainly_ wouldn’t oppose sharing her, if you were willing.”

The two girls indulged in a brief bout of laughter; a quiet and easy one, before their eyes settled calmly upon each other. Diana sighed deeply, lips in a subtle upturn. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Anne mirrored the gesture. “I am too. Thank you for being there for me, even when I’m behaving rather stubborn and arrogant.”

“Oh, _yes”_ Diana urged, face contorting into a mock-frown, “It’s positively _rotten_ work.”

“The rottenest”, Anne grinned.

The raven-haired woman smiled, beginning to gather herself up. “You were writing before we came in, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question – Diana unquestionably knew. “Yes.”

“Good. You’re always most ardently yourself when you’re transcribing your thoughts on the page.” She stood. “I’ll leave you to it then, but we’ll definitely have a talk later.”

She smiled, reaching to squeeze her hand. “I’d appreciate that more than you could ever know.”

Her bosom friend sighed sweetly, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Anne. It was warm, and safe, and the perfect expression of kinship. Anne’s eyes fluttered closed as she breathed in the scent of caramel macarons and cappuccinos, her arms circling around Diana’s back. The other girl’s breath was tepid against Anne’s neck as she said, “You know I love you, right?”

Her arms tightened, and her face snuggle deeper into Diana’s shoulder. “As much as I _you_.”

She sighed, and they stayed in the warm haze for a moment, relishing in the tranquillity of their unknown solidarity. No one could begin to understand the sheer depth of their friendship, and that was perfectly fine by them. They were perfectly content in their own little secrets.

After a moment, they pulled apart, and Diana squeezed the redhead’s shoulder once more. “You’ll be down for dinner soon?”

“Absolutely”, Anne grinned, placing her hand atop her friend’s, “Call out to me when it’s ready.”

Diana nodded, pulling back and backing toward the door. Just as she was about to pass through, she swivelled on the spot, blowing a kiss toward Anne. The recipient of the gesture smiled, returning it gladly and earnestly. They shared one last small and knowing grin before Diana turned and walked through the door, closing it quietly behind her. Anne studied it a moment longer, sighing deeply, before she took returned to the task at hand. Reaching underneath the cover of ‘Little Women’, she gently removed the folded letter, unravelling it before her and picking up her pen once more; she kept it held between her teeth and fingers as her eyes read each word one last time. After this, she would fold it up, slip it gently into an envelope, seal it with her special crimson wax, and then wake up at the crack of dawn to deliver it to the post office. But now, she trained her thoughts onto reading it. She had to be _undisputedly_ certain. 

_Dearest Gilbert,_

_In all my encompassing and overwhelming remorse, I am finding it a true difficulty to put what I wish to express into words. Where does one as stupidly prideful as myself begin to explain how truthfully and entirely sorry I am? It has been two weeks since you last made the voyage to our Prince Edward Island; and quite frankly, two of the longest weeks of my life. I have been utterly tormented by how things transpired and were left between us that Saturday afternoon, and have struggled with the guilt of my own arrogance – rightfully so, mind you; though I wish it had taken me less time to come to such conclusion. This torment I’ve endured has crippled me like none other, and I dare to believe it’s a similar scenario for you, and for that I must apologise. You are the last person who deserves such anguish, and the last person I would ever wish it on. You deserve the entire world in the palm of your hand, and should settle for nothing less._

_Unfortunately, you’re already well aware at how inept I can be at correctly and tenderly broaching matters of remorse, so I will not hold it against you in the slightest if you laugh, or cry, and simply rip up and throw away what I’m about to write. Lord knows I’ve reacted much more deplorably in favour of your letters._

_Again, I am struggling with where to begin, and the appropriate way to, so, I believe I shall settle for simplicity to start with: Gilbert, I am eternally sorry. I wish I could take back my unjust words and actions of that day; I can’t, but I swear to you, I regret them beyond measure. They weren’t my honest sentiments, and I allowed my own personal frustration to cloud the veil of sincerity. That is in no means an excuse, for I could have just as easily stopped at any time, yet failed to see my own harmful actions impacting on you. It was entirely selfish, and the last thing you deserve after all you have done for me - in acts of utter selflessness - over the years. My heart aches in remembering the look on your face after my stupidly impassioned outburst, and shrivels even further in knowing that I was the cause of that._

_I don’t expect your forgiveness, much less your continued affection, but I needed to tell you all of this. My heart could not bear you thinking that I could ever truly want anyone but you. You, Gilbert John Blythe, and you alone, are the guardian of my deepest affections, and the one true partner to my soul. None other could ever match, nor be brave enough to dare to match the fiery passion within me, and it was the happiest day of my life when you proclaimed your reciprocation of affections in the most starlit way possible. We fight like cats and dogs, and we bicker like children over folly, but no one seizes me by the hand and says ‘let’s soar’ like you. No one inspires me to pursue the absolute best version of myself like you. No one knows the inner workings of my mind like you. No one stands for the honesty of justice and truth like you. No one has ever made me feel ‘enough’ more than you, and for that, I will carry you in my heart forever and a day._

_You may never forgive me, nor want to see me again, and if that is to be, I will accept it without argument. But if there is even a slither of a chance, know that I will fight for you for the rest of days, and continue to love no one but you when I’ve been gone ten thousand years. For you, it is uncontainable. For you, it is unmatchable. For you, it is eternal._

_You probably wouldn’t have heard, but Ka’kwet has fallen ill with consumption. Along with the gracious assistance of Josephine Barry and Cole, I helped her mother move her along back to their tribe near Avonlea. You may remember her father, Aluk – he made your hockey stick and his mother was the medicine woman – well, he valiantly instigated Ka’kwet’s escape… and he paid the ultimate price for it. It took me several minutes to write that, and now there’s a single tear droplet on the page, that will undoubtedly stain. I apologise for that; I made certain no others fell after it. That was Thursday; two days ago now, yet it feels that time has been lived tenfold since. I decided I would like to plan a sort of compensation for the atrocities they’ve faced. It could never replace what has been lost, but I would feel worse having done nothing. I wondered if, perhaps, you would like to contribute in this matter?_

_By no means am I asking you to come for me – I hardly deserve such selfish needs – but if you could find time in your schedule for this, I, along with his family, would be forever grateful. Again, I would understand if you would wish not to do so. It is a mere open invitation, and I am humbly placing the ball within your court._

_You are my best friend, my love, my soulmate. I am whatever you can permit me to be to you, but for now, I shall sign off with what I know to be unwaveringly true:_

_Yours, for now and forever,_

_Anne_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Purple Hyacinth: the flower of Apologies and Asking Forgiveness_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anne practices social-distancing and self-isolation -- be like anne.
> 
> BUT, that being said, don't *emotionally* distance yourself. i know times like these can weigh really heavily on a lot of people, and being forced to stay home, away from school or work, and just simmer with your thoughts is... rlly fckn dangerous. so make sure that if you ARE feeling the effects of self-isolation/quarantine/social distancing, that you have people you can reach out to. call them, facetime, check up on them too -- no one is alone, nor SHOULD be through this ordeal. if any of you have felt personally impacted by COVID-19 and need someone to talk to, ill always respond to messages. i wanna be here for you guys <3
> 
> also, remember to support your local asian businesses! dont let racism and xenophobia win!
> 
> what did yall think of alistair? also, did you pick up on the specific colours used in the paint scene hehe
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: anne has nearly finished her assessment, but her mind is veryyyyy much elsewhere. she has a plan in place, and getting worried about whether its going to work. keep your fingers crossed for our gal!


	9. Dandelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a new found purpose and sense of hope, Anne anxiously awaits to see if the words of her letter reached Gilbert - both physically and emotionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, hope you all had a wonderful easter (if you celebrate it)!  
> thank you all so much for the immense love from last chapter, and eagerness to read this one. hopefully it lives up to your expectations <3 (also, i 100% listened to dandelions by ruth b while writing this)  
> enjoy!

Anne’s teeth had been chattering ceaselessly for the past two hours, chills coursing through her body in the slicing cold as she did her best to curl in on herself. Her back was hunched, arching over her lap as she scribed notes beside her biology report, hand trembling with each stroke. She took in a sharp, icy breath that stung her throat. She allowed herself a respite from the jolting moment, placing her pen down as she rubbed her gloved hands vigorously. Her breath came out in a heavyset fog, and she lifted her hands to her lips, allowing the warm air to slightly alleviate the north-westerly wind’s snap.

The snow had arrived late this year, but it had sufficiently made up for its tardiness through its sheer force. The wind was whistling softly through the trees beyond, and the flakes had fallen fast and hard. Thankfully, they seemed to be slowing down in their delegation as of present, and Anne thought it was now quite a pretty sight to behold, watching as the miniscule crystals of ice danced down from the heavens. The feeble late-November sunlight caught in their sheen, and it was like a glittering tapestry had been thrown over the world.

Another sharp breeze passed by, inducing Anne into a full-body shiver, and she tugged her winter coat closer, mindful of not disrupting elegant bun Diana had fashioned for her that morning. It was simple, but sophisticated, and when her talented friend had held another mirror up to see the back of it, even Josie had been audibly impressed. Both Diana and Anne had turned crimson under the praise.

It was the third Saturday in a row she’d found herself studying at the train station. Admittedly it was a little hard to think in the cold, and the station master had invited her in numerable times, but every single time he had, Anne fervently insisted she wait on the platform so she could see the trains coming before they even arrived. She wanted to be ready to bolt to her feet the second she saw _him_ … if he turned up. Call her presumptuous, but every single whistle that blew had her head zipping around with eyes blown wide. Every time it happened, however, she was sorely disappointed; though ruefully unsurprised.

The first week, she had rushed out of the house as the sun had begun to crest the sky, necktie skewwhiff on her collar, hair wild and untamed. Her farm boots had pounded across the streets, streaks of mud and dust still coated over the worn leather. The only thing she had taken care with was the dainty peony held in her hand, shielded against the wind underneath her coat. When she’d arrived at the station, she had sat gingerly and with her back off the seat; her entire appearance dishevelled except for the little blush-coloured flower in her hands. After walking home at sunset, she’d asked Lily for a vase, and placed it gently in at its spot by the windowsill near her bed.

The following week, she’d woken well before the sun; allowing her to take time in deep breaths and careful sips of tea. Her magnificent blue dress had been taken from off its hanger and wrapped firmly around her figure. Diana and Ruby had helped craft her red locks into a beautiful and elegantly intricate braided chignon, and Tillie had even felt generous enough to dust her cheeks in rouge and certain darkening brush on her lashes that had her eyes watering. After the ordeal, she’d picked up the flower she’d preorganised the day before: a purple hyacinth. Feeling very sombre and noble, she’d walked to the station with her head high and heart hammering out of her chest, only to return hours later, feeling those emotions tenfold. The hyacinth joined its companion in the vase.

Today, the sun’s welcoming rays had coaxed open her bleary eyes, and she’d laid in the warm glow for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and getting up. With a quiet buzz, she’d carefully put on her corset, blouse, green skirt and matching jacket. Diana had awoken, taken one look at her rambunctious hair, and forced her to sit in the vanity, smiling against Anne’s abashed protests. The end result had been a subtle prowess beneath her calm exterior. She’d allowed the chorus of swallows to carry her feet along the streets, walking with her head high and her heart open to the ethereal glow of the world, thanks to the sprinkling of frost. The snow had begun to fall lightly during her journey, and she prayed the iridescent environment was a product of pathetic fallacy. She desperately needed some sign of hope from the universe.

But if her theory of pathetic fallacy were true then, it would certainly ring true now to the way the sky was darkening, the wind whistling, and the crisp chill becoming a bone-numbing ache. Hope was slipping from the tight grasp of her fingers, just like the quaint violet cyclamen that was brushing the skirt on her lap.

Maybe… maybe the letter had gotten lost in the mail. Maybe he hadn’t had the time to open it yet. Maybe he’d formulated a response, sent it, and it was now just a matter of waiting. Or maybe…

Maybe he _had_ seen it, realised just whom it was from, and ignored it. Or perhaps he’d opened and read it, and decided to just throw it out anyway. She couldn’t decide which was worse.

No. She sat up straighter, allowing her spine to extend like a proud oak. She would not concede to despair again; she _had_ to hope, had to hang onto it until the very last thread. Careful hands brought the little flower close to her bosom, cradling it ardently.

“Come on, Anne”, she muttered, puffing her chest. “You are the product of your own beliefs; you reap what you sow, so make it a bountiful harvest. You’ve faced worse than this, and will undoubtedly face more in your lifetime. Adversities and concerns are merely assessments of character, and just like any exam, all you can do is resolve each question as it comes. Just… have faith… Yeah… have faith…”

The minutes ticked by with an agonising lack of speed, and as the clock struck ten, Anne heaved a sigh and reached to the bag below her. Her fingers easily found the hardback cover of her most trusted and visibly beloved copy of Pride and Prejudice, and she placed the biology book in its stead as she pulled it out. Carefully, she flicked it open to where she’d last marked the page. Truthfully, she didn’t need to read it these days to be able to recite it word for word, as every dotted ‘i’ and crossed ‘t’ was firmly ingrained in her mind. Nothing about it surprised her anymore, but it still somehow _astonished_ her on an ethereal level. She was grounded by Jane Austen’s words; safe and secure in place while her emotions flowed with the story like autumn leaves in a fleeting river. By now, she knew Elizabeth Bennett as well as herself, and turning the pages was like sharing a laugh with a friend. A singular solidarity.

She’d been reading over the epiphanic encounter between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, in which the gentleman revealed the immoral nature of Wickham and his own reflective musings, when she heard the faint rhythmic _chuckchuckchuckchuck_ of a locomotive approaching the station. Her head bolted up instinctively, pages of the disregarded book fluttering as her entire being focused on the gleaming black engine pulling in. Its smoke plumed out into the silver-blue sky around; a black contrast to it before fading into the world of white.

Anne leapt to her feet, grasping quickly before the forgotten book could plummet toward the dusty ground and letting out a mumbled curse as she did, carefully minding the little flower all the while. A trio of elderly women nearby gasped at her tactlessness, but she hardly paid any mind as she quickly placed the book within her bag and lifted it upward.

“Train inbound for Brackley, New Glasgow and Bright River!” the station master called out, his booming voice calling above the crescendo of screeching metal. “All those for the east side o’ the island, this is your train! Ensure you have your ticket on your person before boarding.”

Anne felt the hopeful anticipation lodge itself in her throat, still as defined as it had been that first Saturday. She watched on with wide eyes and a tremble resulting not from the cold as the train began to slow, the whistling wheels growing to a fever pitch. She scanned the visible carriages as they passed her, stepping light-footedly as she roved over every face she could find. The sharp screech faded away and the train grinded to a halt, a sizzle of steam being released from the wheels as it shuttered. A breath scarcely left Anne’s body.

Slowly, the carriage doors began to open individually, a variety of people embarking off as awaiting passengers stepped aside. Anne moved forward, tentatively at first, before breaking into a purposeful march that was laced with an ounce of apprehension. Manouvering around the inscrutable throng of people, she kept her eyes peeled on every speck of movement about the carriages. A mother and her bright-eyed daughter; a burly Saint-Nick figure; a gaggle of rambunctious young men, an elderly lady and her gentleman companion… She pulled to a stop, reaching the caboose, eyes turning to cast out to sparkling winter wonderland environment. No dark-haired boys with soft hazel eyes.

_Third time’s a charm… and a habit._

She felt the steadfast strength that she’d been nurturing the past few weeks begin to dwindle and wither, drying up and crumbling into fragments like the ashes of leaves on the streets. The fierce beast inside her began to whimper, cowering before the slithering menace that had crawled its way up from the depths to barrage it in tirades of taunts. It laughed in her face, dangerously hissing, ‘He’s not coming. You messed up yet again. All you ever do is mess things up. Just give up while you still can, while your heart isn’t completely crushed.’

No. She picked herself up, staring at the falling snow and the face of the invisible fear with a set resolution.

There were at least another two trains inbound on today’s schedule. She nodded, pulling at an invisible string that lengthened her spine to its maximum.

A letter could arrive by post tomorrow, for all she knew. She turned on her heel.

And even if it didn’t, she would hardly be dissuaded from coming next Saturday. She took a step forward.

Nor the next. She took another step.

Nor the one after that. And another.

And so forth. And another.

She would come and sit at that knobbly, splinter-infested seat each Saturday until the oceans dried up, if that’s how long it took. She kept walking.

Hope wasn’t something a person came across by happenstance. It was something manifested through practice and unwavering perseverance. It was bred, cultivated into being through a ceaseless state of mind. It was the conscious choice to look for the light no matter the strength of the darkness. It was the reminder that there’s always something good to find in the world, and Anne would be sooner wed to Billy Andrews than give up that ideal ever again. She refused. The whisper of a smile set confidently on her lips.

She passed by one of the carriages and saw that there was an elderly man huffing as he struggled to bring out a plethora of bags. Anne pulled up short, stepping backwards as she picked up the bustle of her skirt and marched her way back. Stopping at the foot of the ledge, she grinned up at the red-faced soul whose body clogged up the entire doorframe. “Would you like a hand with your bags, sir?”

Beady blue eyes shot toward her, quivering lip-less mouth in a small ‘o’. Then, he returned the gesture with rosy, wind-bitten cheeks, “Oh, thank you, my dear, but these are far too heavy for a young lady. This poor gent behind me is taking the bulk of them, and even _he,_ with his younger bones, is struggling.”

Anne couldn’t help the knowing smirk. “I know I may look rather wily, but I can assure you, I’m much stronger than I appear. I’ve carried my own weight and then some on occasion. A bit of luggage is hardly a challenge.” She gestured toward the two smaller cases at his feet, before looking back up him, cocking her head. “Even just those two? Just to clear some room.”

“Miss, there’s no obligation—”

“No, but there _is_ common decency and chivalry.”

“A young lass should hardly be dirtying her gloves for an old codger—”

“I wouldn’t call this a business of dirtying my gloves, sir.”

He paused, looking up at her in a certain fond exasperation, before promptly bubbling into chuckles. “You’re rather persistent, aren’t you?”

She proudly grinned. “Most ardently and most annoyingly.”

Considering her another moment, he shook his head, releasing a sigh in the process of saying, “Well… it would certainly put less strain on the trapped lad behind, so I suppose, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Not in the least”, she offered him a smile as she placed her own bag down, reaching over the rungs of the step ladder and grasping for the leather handles. Admittedly, despite their small stature, they did hold a substantial weight, and Anne couldn’t supress the quiet groan as she put her back into it. Gritting her teeth as her biceps tensed, she sidestepped backwards a few feet. She made sure to bend her knees as she carefully placed the twin cases beside her own. Exhaling a sharp breath of satisfaction, she nodded, turning to face the kind greybeard shuffling his way to the railing, case in hand as he smiled behind him at—.

Oh.

Anne loved her literature more than… just about anything, really. It had always been the one constant in her life, the one solid ground she could stand upon when everything else felt like quicksand. It was her escape to a world in which there was always a happy ending, a brief reprise in the constant torment of her younger years. She could be a prince in a Scandinavian kingdom, or a midnight horse of the English countryside, or a boyish young woman making her mark in the United States. She could be anything, be anyone, and escape from hardships that reality brought, if only for a moment.

She would read the story with the characters, cry when they cried, laugh when they laughed, and breath their journey as though it were her own. Their triumphs were her triumphs, and she felt an unbreakable kinship with them.

One of the most profound cruxes that resided with her were the moments of unexpected reunion; the way time slid to a still, the world faded away, the manifestation of a string quartet, or iridescent butterflies. The great grandiose nature of it all; how there’s the bursting of a thousand suns when the characters locked eyes; how there’s this innate sense of happily ever after cresting over the horizon as they ran into each other’s arms. It was breathtaking, bewitching, omnipotent, and Anne would be left floundering in the star-bound emotion, practically ripping at the pages as she neared the climatic instance of the encounter. She’d lay back against the covers, arm draped over her eyes as the euphoria left her dizzy and smiling, and dreaming ‘Lord, give me that one day’.

Gilbert stared at her with seemingly every muscle in his face tightened, save for his eyes, which were blown wide as saucers. Anne knew her expression to be entirely agape, but she felt as though all the strings, tendons and nerves had shrivelled away, and there wasn’t a hope in control in its numb state. Her arms mimicked the consistency of the jelly pudding Aunt Jo always served at her soirees, and her legs were stock-still as hitching posts.

For a moment, neither said anything; neither could find the words. Anne felt as though every brain cell she’d ever cultivated over the years had taken a cruise to the Caribbean, leaving her nothing but mush and juice.

“Anne”, his mouth said, eyes staring dead ahead.

“G-Gilbert, I…”

This wasn’t a novel; this was reality, and while profound, it was also incredibly jarring. What it lacked in poetic finesse, it made up for in sheer, stupid awkwardness.

The old man in the middle flickered his silvery gaze between them, brows quirking up in amusement. “So, you two know each then, hm?”

Their attention simultaneously snapped to the man, eyes wide and blood pulsing in their ears.

“O-oh, yes, we, um—”

“He’s, well… I’m—”

Their heads snapped back around at whiplash speed, focusing on each other’s pinking cheeks. Between them, the snowy-haired gent chuckled soft and heartily, shaking his head as rested his hands on his hips. “Oh… to be young and in love.”

The pink turned to a violent beetroot, and Anne could’ve sworn her ears and face were now sporting miniature fires. She fought the ridiculous urge to tuck her immaculate locks behind her ear, staring him down with a trembling stubbornness. It seemed he had the same notion as well, and kept his gaze equally focused on her. Well, two could certainly play at that game.

They almost completely forgot about the older man until he cleared his throat. “As much as I’m sure you two would love to go about your day, I would also like to disembark the carriage, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh!” Anne jolted up like a spring, sidestepping hurriedly as she paved a pathway. “Yes, of course. Sorry, sir.”

“No, no! No need to apologise at all, dearie”, he waved a dismissive hand as he hopped down with a grunt, offering her a grin as white as his hair. “You’ve been nothing but charitable, so allow me to thank you.”

Anne blushed despite herself, turning her eyes down as she waited for the man to pass, picking up his bags. She felt Gilbert tentatively make his way down, hopping off the train with an athletic ease and landing beside her. Her heart spiked as his knuckles brushed against hers, before he shuffled to the side opposite her own. The young woman ached in the absence of the fleeting proximity.

To ignore the pained beating of her worried heart, she kept her eyes firmly on the snow-haired man ahead who was smiling largely at them. “Thank you both for your assistance. Tis much appreciated.”

In her periphery, Gilbert snorted lightly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his midnight frock coat – a new and rather spiffy addition to his closet, Anne thought belatedly. “No trouble at all, sir. Happy to oblige.”

Anne felt his attention shift to her, and with a stiffened throat said, “Just as I said, sir – common decency. Anyone would’ve done it.”

“Ah”, he jested, waving a finger, “but they didn’t. _You_ two did.”

He then turned to Gilbert with a particularly mirthful twinkle in his eye. “I can see why you like the young lass. Quite a little spitfire.”

Before either of the teenagers could muster a phrase past the growing blush on their cheeks, the man tipped his bowler toward them, a crinkled smile playing at his mouth. “Well, I best be off then. Got places to be, people to see. Good day to you both”, and with that, he called upon a porter and gathered his bags into a trolley, promptly turning and walking off.

And Anne and Gilbert were alone.

Again.

Except this time, they were also surrounding by the hullabaloo of a mid-morning train station. Anne pulled at the tightening collar of her blouse, glancing away as the cold air gave way to a much too temperate climate. Honestly, since when had Canada shifted toward the equator? She released a breath of tension into the air, watching as the vapour rose and dissipated into the atmosphere.

Gilbert appeared no better than her, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets and eyes cast down, brows knitted and twitching above them. A wintry breeze slid its way into the train station shelter, sending chills down Anne’s spine as it whispered across her face and ruffled its way into Gilbert’s curls.

Swallowing, she mustered up everything she had and spun around, turning to face the young man who now looked at her with raised brows. “You came”, she simply said.

Her eyes flickered down as his jaw worked, lashes fluttering as he met her gaze. “You asked me to.”

“I… I didn’t know if you would”, she glanced down, playing with the bracelet beneath her multiple layers. She continued in a mumble, “I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you hadn’t.”

Thanks to the outrageous noise pollution around them, she doubted he heard the last part. She hardly dared to look up and gauge a reaction, though; fearful of what she would see if she did. So, she waited a moment, finding a politely appropriate smile and looked up. “Shall we leave?”

After a slight note of hesitation, Anne’s heart pounding like a fist in her chest, Gilbert nodded.

* * *

They had had many an awkward encounter, of halted stares, of wordless thoughts, of stupid physical altercations. But this… this wasn’t even a different level of awkward, it was an entirely unrecognisable, palpable worldview. Anne decided that if she didn’t think of something to say in the next two minutes, she would go and jump straight into the Atlantic Ocean covered in fish entrails.

They’d been walking along the streets of Charlottetown for almost a quarter of an hour by now, though Anne swore it felt like half the day. Not a single word had been exchanged between the two in that time, and they’d rarely said anything at all but the spare ‘excuse me’ to passersby. Every step felt like one on a thousand eggshells, and every breath of the icy air like it froze her throat. She glanced away and darted a tongue over her sea breeze-chapped lips, oblivious to the way Gilbert’s eyes darted at the movement. They walked with a good two feet between them, but on occasion, their hands still brushed, and the fleeting contact sent chills up Anne’s extremities every time, without failure.

Beside her, he grunted softly; the sound drew her eyes down to where he readjusted his grip on the handle of her bag. She could imagine his knuckles going white beneath the smoke-coloured gloves.

Taking a deep, stabilising breath, she slowly turned her head a fraction toward him. “It’s… fairly secluded now.” He looked up with shining hazel eyes, and she forced the words from her throat, “I can take it. Really, it’s not an issue.”

It may have been the reflection of falling snow, but Anne swore his lip quirked up a fraction. “It’s not one for me either.” He cleared his throat, looking forward as they walked along the winding footpath. “It’s just nice to be able to properly work my muscles.”

Hope pulsed in her throat like a beacon, but she dared not let it shine through in her words; instead, she kept it quiet, small but still there, and offered a quiet, “Well, then… thank you.”

“…You’re welcome.”

Their eyes met ever so briefly, like a clandestine singularity in time, before they shuttered away once more, focusing on the opening of parkland ahead. The landscape curved like an undulating wave, cresting in hills with wispy trees sticking out from their roots. As they deviated off the path, Anne glanced at her feet as they crunched the layer of snow, eyes smiling as patches of green appeared beneath the icy white. Some things never changed.

Wordlessly, they moved toward a small, unoccupied bench, taking purchase of the break in walking through the snow. A large oak overhung the space, offering them shelter with the falling thicket and chilling winds as they sat. The chair was fairly spacious, and whilst neither were sitting resolutely o either end, they still allowed a more-than-appropriate distance between them. It both allowed Anne the room to breathe and sent her heart into a worrisome frenzy.

Silence stretched between them like a continent. Anne swallowed the stiff ball of nerves down her throat, fumbling with the stitches of her gloves as she kept her head as still as possible. She knew what she had to say, knew what she had to do; grovelling felt like too soft a word, yet too extreme simultaneously. It was just a matter of formulating them, putting into words what her heart needed to express. She’d tried rehearsing several times in the mirror every night, yet each apology had felt the same – stiff, scripted, and shallow. In the end, she’d settled for complete authenticity and to deliver the words as they came to her.

Which had seemed like a superb idea, until she’d realised no words would arrive. And Lord, it was setting every nerve within her alight and making her want to scream.

Slyly glancing over toward Gilbert, she saw he too was rather restless; shuffling in subtle movements and reaching a hand up to draw a hand back through his tinselly dark curls, tiny dots of white falling with the movement as more fell to replace them. Anne watched them settle into the luscious curls, and her fingers twitched the longer she studied them, aching to know if they were as soft as she imagined.

Suddenly, his eyes met hers, wide, inquisitive, slightly uncertain, and Anne’s brain ceased all rational thought. Before she could stop herself, she blurted with a comically cheery tone, “How was the journey!”

He blinked at her outburst. The freezing, sperm-whale-and-orca-infested waters of the Atlantic had never seemed so appealing.

“Uh…” he began, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he looked at her, “It was… pleasant. Quiet… Used the time to study.”

“Oh! That’s astute of you! Very productive”, she exclaimed rather lamely, glancing back out at the snow.

“…Thank you.”

Most of the journey would have been undertaken at night, and he’d made it sound as though sleep had not wanted to bring him respite. Anne didn’t feel it as her place to ask the invasive question of why, however. If he didn’t wish to tell her, she certainly wasn’t obliged to know. Besides, she could make an adequate speculation as to what his reasoning behind the lack of sleep would be.

However, the awkward skirting around the elephant in the room felt wrong and dishonestly nonchalant. Anne was nothing if not pragmatic around the issues of heart, and so, with a heaving breath, she centred her thoughts.

When she spoke this time, it was with a much more sober tone, her gaze fixing calmly on Gilbert. “Thank you for coming”, she began earnestly, watching as the cogs worked behind his eyes. “I really didn’t know if you would. I certainly would not have blamed you, had you not”, she trailed off in a sigh, shaking her head as she then said, “The way we left things— the way…the way _I_ left things… I was too absorbed in my own shortcomings to realise your own feelings of neglect. And I don’t even know _where_ to start apologising—”

“Anne”, he cut in, voice stronger and more assured than it had been since he got off the train. Her heart thrummed like a violent hummingbird in her chest as she stared at him. He sighed, and Anne prepared herself for the blow to fall, “I didn’t put things into perspective when I should have. Yes, I was… troubled, but you were trying to deal with this mammoth societal issue that was bigger than myself, and I selfishly thrust that onto you—”

“ _What_?” She was aghast, appalled at his own misplaced repentance. “Why are you… You did _nothing_ wrong—”

“Please let me say this, Anne”, he held up a hand. “Please, I’m sorry—”

“What, no! Why are _you_ sorry? _I’m_ the one who was rude and selfish and callous—”

“And _I_ was the one who sprung onto you with accusations in an act of jealousy—”

“And I just allowed myself to be blindsided to your emotions by that _stupid, God-awful_ letter—”

“Because my _damned_ roommate was saying things, and getting in my head—”

“And I blindsided _myself_ to Roy’s intentions, which, as I said in the letter, I do _not_ reciprocate _at all_ —”

“Maybe if I’d just waited until the right moment to broach it with you calmly—”

“If I’d just taken a singular _moment_ to breathe and rationalise—”

They stopped midsentence, fixing each other with wide, incredulous looks. The silence only lasted a moment, however, before Anne felt the tension that had been growing in her throat release a most undignified snort. Gilbert stared at her a split moment longer with gleaming eyes; then, miraculously, his face split into the almightiest grin and he peeled over in laughter. It was a wheezing, chortling, snorting and body-wracking laughter, and was the most unreserved she’d ever seen him.

And it was like the heavens themselves had opened up and surrounded her in a choir of angels; it was blinding, and it was beautiful.

Fleetingly, she realised that well as disregard for dignity, it was more importantly the most joyful she’d ever seen him. Her heart ached both at the grim realisation and that she was the one to finally elicit it from him.

Quietly, she joined in with quiet giggles, too enraptured by his own happiness to dwell on her own. After a moment, he sighed, wiping the moisture from his grinning eyes, rosy, smiling cheeks resembling those delicious homegrown apples of his. “We somehow always seem to find ourselves back at this crossroads.”

Anne huffed, smiling, “Don’t we just.”

They shared in another chuckle; a softer, airier one that had their shoulders leaned toward each other. Anne’s heart quietly leapt into her throat when Gilbert’s knee brushed her own and didn’t try to move away from the contact. Despite the bitter cold, she felt a rush of warm pulsate through her.

After a moment, she looked up to meet his eye, and melted when she found nothing but unadulterated sincerity, and something else just beneath. It was deep and luminescent, glowing from the purest part of his soul. When he spoke in hushed tones, Anne felt as though her entire being was hyper-fixated on his every word. “I… truly am sorry. It was poor of me to jump to conclusions the way I did. I… I should have communicated with you better.”

Anne snorted lightly through her nose, down-casting her eyes as she said with a soft, rueful amusement, “You really mustn’t worry. Based on historical precedent, I can confirm that I, am in fact, _much_ worse than you could ever be.”

Gilbert shook his head at her – it was fond and understanding gesture, albeit somewhat exasperated. He shifted more in the seat so that his torso was almost entirely facing Anne’s. His smile was crooked as he said, “Okay… How’s about we let bygones be bygones and agree we’re as worse as each other?”

In that moment, Anne looked at him – _really_ looked at him, and saw every single thing about him she admired, and respected, and loved. In many ways, it was their similarities that she was drawn to, their kindred spiritedness. They were both stubborn, and competitive, and passionate, and just, and adamant about their loved ones. He had this overwhelming capacity for love, and for forgiveness, and while Anne held true to the first, she knew that she could hold a grudge until the day she met her maker and then some. Here he was, having felt betrayed and the bullets of words pierced in his sides for weeks, travelling over a thousand miles to meet with the girl who had fired the gun, and _he_ felt the need to apologise. This boy, this _man_ , had been as patient and understanding as any mortal could, and she’d sneered at his efforts.

With earnest clarity, she stated, “I’ll say I agree with you, if it’ll put your mind at ease… but my heart will know the truth.”

His eyes filled with a bemused sympathy. “Anne—”

“No, please, Gil”, she shook her head, looking at him half-desperately. “I need to say this.” He leaned back, though his eyes remained ever-imploring. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a soft, yet definitive tone. “I am… _so_ , so sorry, Gil. So _immensely_ sorry. That day, I was rude, and selfish, arrogant and thoughtlessly vindictive. I… I-I knew of Roy’s affections, but I…” she swallowed thick, “I allowed myself to believe that the course of time had somehow eliminated them, or they were simply just a dismissible mild fancy. It was a foolish, presumptuous notion, especially given my own experiences. And when you broached it with me – and yes, the timing was… a little misplaced, but your words and their delivery were not – I seldom wished to hear of another instance I’d been wrong, or let someone down. I confess with great remorse that I… God, why is this is so hard”, she admitted ruefully, bringing a hand up to cover her face.

Gilbert, patient and diligent as ever, simply sat there, waiting for her to find the words to continue. Fingers in his lap itched toward her, but he didn’t dare let them move.

Steeling herself with a deep breath that plumed out in front her of her mouth, she let the cool air surrounding her tether her soul to reality. Meeting his eyes was a hard, but dutiful effort, and she stared sincerely into those hazel orbs as she said, “Throughout my life, I’ve become well-acquainted with the heavy blows of cruel judgement and prejudice. Some first-hand, some secondary; but… irregardless of that, I’ve learned to look not for the heartache and sorrow, but rather what I can personally recognise as right and wrong, helpful and harmful. To take a bad experience and use it to learn the makings of becoming a better person. A more empathetic one. After everything I’d been through and seen, I knew that I could— _would_ never allow myself to be the cause of those feelings on another person, ever. And yet…”

It became too much, the overbearing guilt on her stupid, stubborn pride. She couldn’t meet his eye. She couldn’t handle seeing whatever pity or regret stirred in those striking depths. “I did exactly that. I did exactly that to _the least_ deserving person of it. I did that to the person I least wanted to ever inflict that upon.” She gritted her teeth against her own emotion, determined to finish without a self-pitying inflection anywhere in sight. “I did the one thing that I’ve had done to me my entire life, the one thing I’ve been so adamant about never inflicting upon another person – I invalidated you”, she admitted resolutely, forcing her eyes to meet his own.

“I invalidated your _feelings_ , your _words._ Treated you as though you were spouting nonsensical notions when you were insecure and needed reassurance the most. And that makes me as bad as the rest of them. A-and when I wrote to you, I knew it was entirely far-fetched and that I certainly didn’t deserve your forgiveness but _God_ , I hoped. I prayed. I didn’t deserve to, but I did. Because you are just so _good_ , and so _kind,_ and I have wanted nothing more than someone like you in my life. And I knew, and I _know_ , that if you’re in my life, I can do anything. You make me feel so much more than what I am. And…”

Her voice caught in her throat. Yet again, she pushed past it, willing down the blinding pressure in her eyes. “And you… you deserve the entire world in your hands. You deserve everything that you strive for, everything you achieve, and you deserve someone who won’t break your heart – you absolutely _do_ not deserve the absolute misery I wrought upon you that day; and God help me, Gilbert Blythe, don’t try to state otherwise, for you know it to be true.”

A brief, bittersweet smile flickered across his face amidst her ramblings, and he nodded slightly.

It was becoming harder to maintain her noble stature as all her feelings over the past three weeks accumulated under that tree, her breath coming out more haggard with every gasp. For everything Anne had said about hope, she also had been dismissing the undercurrent of turmoil that raged beneath her stoic exterior.

“I-I mean… what type of person does that to their love? I can’t… I said—h-how did I even formulate those words? I still can’t I actually… _Curse_ my damnable temper, honestly”, she hissed bitterly. “I lashed out at you and vented my frustrations at you, and just what did it achieve? The words of the letter didn’t change, and I nearly lost one of the people who’s consistently been on my team throughout everything. And I haven’t made any progress at _all_ in helping the Mi’kmaq, and it’s just _so frustrating_ , I feel like I need to _scream_ , a-and Ka’kwet very nearly _died_ , I—” the words created an impenetrable block in her throat, the reminder of her poor friend leaving her head empty and broken.

The shock reverberated around her, bringing her dizzily like a spinning top back to the earth. She forced her breathing to slow and deepen, closing her eyes as she centred herself once more. “And there I go, _again_ , focusing on myself… Sorry, I should be shutting up and listening for once. I’m sorry.”

“No, Anne, I…” Gilbert began softly, before pausing to release a sigh, glancing down at his gloved hands momentarily. After a moment, hazel orbs focused on her once more. “Look, you’re… you’re right.” She glanced up, meeting his steady gaze. “I… was hurt. And I was hurt by the things you said. I’m not going to sugar-coat it or anything of the sort, or… allude to being something it’s not, or wasn’t. It _hurt_ me”, he murmured gently, like he didn’t wish to reciprocate the feeling onto Anne. It failed to work – not that Anne blamed him, even as her heart broke.

“But”, he said after a pause, “when I received your letter, I believed the words the words you wrote. Because they came from _you_ ”, he leaned toward her on the word, and Anne could distinguish a few sparse freckles upon his complexion. “Because I know that no matter to what extent you may become angry, or upset, or, uh… impassioned”

“It’s okay – you can say heedlessly infuriating.”

He snorted at that, and Anne’s quivering lips quirked up the slightest fraction. “Either way, no matter what tumultuous emotion you’re currently going through, you’ll always be honest. With me and, with anyone. It’s something I’ve always admired about you. You are unabashedly you when a lot of people are not. You… Anne, you are _incredible_.”

The easy, blatant sincerity of the compliment would have surely knocked her off her feet, had she been standing.

Unknowing of the ricocheting of her heart in her chest, he continued. “You’re so selfless, and optimistic, and I’ve never in my life met anyone with a heart as brave and strong as yours. You want so much – but not so much for yourself; you want justice for those you aren’t given it, who are cast out based on prejudice. You have this… _insane_ ability to empathise, which I know you’ve had to work on, speaking from experience”, he chuckled, reminding them both of another day, years ago, when they’d been alone in the snow. Anne tried to shelter the cringe on her face; she wasn’t entirely sure of the success in her efforts.

“And you never stop trying to be better. You’re… amazing”, he whispered softly, voice suddenly taking on a cadence of wisdom that captivated her in resolution, “but you’re only human, Anne. You are but one person. You keep trying to wrangle the world’s problems no matter how vast they are — and it’s admirable, _so_ admirable, but you can’t solve them on your own. You can only do what you can do in the moment, and you _have_ to make sure that you take the moments for yourself, too. Else you risk losing yourself in the process… If I’m speaking honestly, I think you’ve been pushing yourself ceaselessly, and I lo— I _respect_ you for your tenacity, but it’s not healthy for you to keep racing a marathon as though it’s a sprint. And it won’t do anyone any good if you can’t operate at your best; and as we’ve already seen, it could easily stir up animosity in your relationships. This isn’t something that can be stopped overnight.”

Anne nodded solemnly, now realising and acknowledging the depth and truth behind his words, a truth she hadn’t stopped to even consider until that moment.

“This is so much bigger than you. So much bigger than any one person, but I _promise_ you this”, he whispered in a fervent, low tone, taking his hands within her own and holding them steady. Anne was captured in his gaze, locked in the swimming depths of his striking hazel eyes. 

“As long as I am in charge of my own mind, body and soul, I will fight just as relentlessly for Ka’kwet and all others like her. You don’t have to do this alone, and I’m not going to let you. The distance, it… it’s hard, I know it is, but I’m not about to let that get in the way of _us_. Not ever again.”

The intensity of everything within her, the measure of his words, the raw fervency in his eyes, the feeling of his thumbs stroking across the back of her hands… it was all too much. At the drop of a snowflake onto the soft white beneath her feet, the barricade she’d been dutifully building upon each passing moment instantly crumbled, and with it fell every locked-up moment of anguish, disappointment, and heartache. Her chest shook and vision blurred before she could stop it, and the dam exploded, pieces of it falling like shrapnel around her aching, overcome body.

Gilbert was there with open arms, catching her as she broke apart.

He held her firm to his chest, rubbing circles on her back and whispering sweet nothings into her hair as she came undone with body-wracking sobs. She clutched at his lapels, still resisting against the lump in her throat as the tears came rolling like a torrent. Her chest felt like it was going to explode, and she squeezed her wet eyes shut so tight, she saw stars. Eventually, she brought a hand up against her mouth, muffling the sound as she bit against the palm of her gloved hands. The sting certainly helped ground her, but it was Gilbert’s strong arms around her torso that kept her from succumbing to the blackhole.

As they sat there with Gilbert murmuring in her ear, she thought about the snide comments in her Biology classes, the hateful glances at young Kitpu, the open harassment and rejection of Ka’kwet and Oqwatnuk, the sleepless look on Cole’s face, her own pitfalls of life; all of it had been accumulating like a murderous storm over the past few months, and Anne hadn’t dared to even think of releasing it. She couldn’t allow herself a moment of weakness, not whilst those she cared for were suffering far worse. She’d had to stay strong, for them and for herself, and forego her own anguish for theirs. She considered it a small price in the grand scheme of justice, if it meant giving them hope.

However, the stress and the tension had left her feeling like a reservoir in a forty-day thunderstorm, with a wad of dynamite of the shortest fuse in history attached to its walls. Every single tear, every cry, every hopeless whisper that had quashed within her had amounted like another drop in the dark, murky and cold waters of the dam. So really, it was no wonder that Gilbert’s warmth had been the point of ignition.

Everything she’d hidden and repressed came out with the raging water, threatening to drown whatever crossed its path. It was a relentless torrent that only the most stable of walls could catch. She was bound to have broken at one point – she was eternally grateful that it was within his steady, strong embrace.

Time blended in like the flakes falling to the snow, and Anne wasn’t quite sure how much of it had passed when her breathing finally evened out on its own accord. Her body rattled in exhaustion of everything the tears had taken out and it was with trembling fingers that she held onto Gilbert for dear life. The tension in her chest that had begun to dissipate lessened further as the hands on her back rubbed reassuringly, and a soft sigh left her lungs.

“Feeling better?” Gilbert’s voice was so impossibly soft in her ear.

She breathed gently against his neck, allowing herself another moment in the warmth before pulling back just enough to meet his worried, inquisitive eyes with a genuine smile. “Much.”

Her eyes flickered down to where her fingers still traced the trimming of his jacket, and she gasped in horror, “Oh, but now I’ve gone and gotten your lovely jacket all damp!” She leaned in, grumbling with pursed lips as she tried in vain to rub out the tear remnants. “Oh, I am _so_ sorry, Gilbert – this is just so embarrassing. I go and make a complete ninny of myself and wail like a banshee all over you, all whilst you’re being all chivalrous and benevolent to sorry old me, and _this_ is the thanks you get.”

“Anne, it’s okay”, he chuckled softly, gently taking her flustered hands within his hands, allowing the movement to calm her and recapture her attention. “Really, it is. To both things. I don’t mind at all.”

Studying him a moment longer to ensure his sincerity – which, she chastised herself, of course he was. This was _Gilbert_ , after all – she let out a small puff of steam from her lips, shoulders sagging in the process as she returned the easy, crooked smile. One of his hands left her own, and she was about to hold herself back from embarrassingly mewling, when she felt the mild pressure of a gloved hand cupping her cheek. She gazed up at him in wonder, watched as his hazel orbs followed the path of his thumb as it traced away the tear streak from her complexion. She leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering close at the warm sensation.

At the sound of him releasing a quiet yet drawn-out sigh, she lifted his gaze to meet his. There was a gentle frown creasing his brow, one she wished to smooth over with her own fingers. In a quiet, tender voice, he pondered, “You’ve been keeping a lot in, haven’t you?”

She smiled sheepishly, and somewhat contrite, as her eyes flickered down. “I guess… Haven’t really wanted to trouble anyone.” She lifted her gaze to meet his once more, offering a much fuller, steadier smile. “It’s a true relief to be able to let it out, though. Liberating… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome… any time.”

And suddenly, it was as though the weight that had been pressing upon her shoulders like the entire globe upon Atlas was lifted, and she snorted, catching her companion by surprise as her shoulders shook lightly. At his inquiring brow, she explained with a smirk in her voice, “You know the last time I was caught crying by you, you immediately presumed the cause of my distress was _onions_?”

She immediately missed his hand as it dropped; however, the way he furiously blinked at her statement added to the rising hilarity. In a low, disbelieving, and slightly cautious tone, he asked, “I… Really?”

“ _‘_ Are you… chopping _onions_?’”

Gilbert released a snort of his own, shaking his head at her. “That’s the most dreadful impression I’ve _ever_ heard. And I have lived with Bash.”

“Bloody _onions_ , Gilbert Blythe!” Anne’s laughter was now open guffawing, not caring about the strange looks passing by. “Honestly!”

“Lord, I can be thick sometimes…” he breathed out, exasperated and wide-eyed, but still within the newly established high spirits.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You are, generally speaking, relatively perceptive by nature”, she said, her tone taking on a coy playfulness as she lifted her chin, “Certainly _sometimes_ , though, of course…”

His eyes narrowed in mock-suspicion. “Is that _cheek_ I’m hearing from you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

“Maybe a fraction”, she shrugged, returning the smirk heartily.

He tutted, shaking his head with an aggravated sigh. The smile on his lips was highly contradictory to the action. “Unbelievable.”

“You asked for honesty – I delivered.”

“I do believe there is such thing as little white lie. Not sure if you’ve heard of it.”

“A tool to be used sparingly, and not when talking to one’s beau.”

“…So, you do actually like the jacket?”

“Yes! You look incredibly dapper in it and, most importantly, warm against this bitter cold. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It was necessary purchase, as I hadn’t banked on Toronto being as cold as it has been and didn’t quite adequately prepare for it. It’s quite conspicuous of a city slicker, though, isn’t it? Also, it’s admittedly rather… itchy.”

Anne scoffed fondly. “Well, would you rather be itchy, or be riddled with frostbite?”

“Valid point… And even with this... ridiculous garment on, I still am somewhat shivering.”

“Yes”, she admitted understandingly, as she had been trying to stifle her own trembles the past few minutes. The cold had been doing quite a number on her underneath her thick jacket and layered skirt. She wasn’t as willing to let onto her discomfort as Gilbert was, however. “This winter will certainly turn out a strong one.”

Gilbert’s eyes were studying her quizzically and considerably, brows drawn in a line over the colourful orbs. After a moment, his lip quirked up at the edges, and he shifted back against the seat, flickering his gaze down then back up to her own. “Care to huddle against it?”

It was an open invitation, a bridge crossing over a line they were both somewhat apprehensive toward. Anne focused on the newly proffered space beside Gilbert with a keen analytical eye, hoping she may just somehow freeze time and be given the opportunity to deliberate her decision more effectively. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her brows knitted softly. What should she do?

More than anything, she wanted to nestle into the crook of his arm and bask in the mutual share of warmth; this particular snow-tinted situation was one her imagination had played over regularly. She knew he’d said all those things about his admiration and care for her, but there’d also been the matter of respect. After everything that had transpired in the past weeks, she was resolutely in not ever again making him feel even slightly invalidated or indefensible. Did he truly want her to sit beside him, or was this simply a gesture of pity or obligation?

She looked back up at his face and took in the expression there with a careful gaze. His lips played an easy, tender smile, his eyes, slightly hesitant but fully unwavering. He too was privy to the nerves she felt throughout her body, but he was also tremblingly eager. She returned the smile tenfold, ducking her head slightly as she shuffled along the bench until their sides touched. Her head brushed against his shoulder, her outside leg crossed over the other so that her foot brushed against his calf, and the arm that wasn’t holding her torso to him was busying itself with collecting her hand in its own. Anne positively _sparked_ in the contact. She wondered if Gilbert did, too.

They had been in closer proximity than this before, of course – the hugs of rarity, the clandestine kiss that been the best gift reality could offer – but there was something so much more… delicate about this, something so much more intimate. They were hardly to be considered alone, with multiple other people going about their days in the park, and it was hardly an overwhelmingly profound gesture, but it was in the quiet peace of the moment that Anne’s wild heart felt so entirely satiated. Its beating was strong, steady, confident as she felt Gilbert’s resounding in tandem within his chest. There was no overwhelming grandness to the gesture, but it resonated within her all the same. She felt… safe. Content.

The sighing hum that Gilbert elicited reverberated in his chest and against Anne, warm and sure. “This is nice”, he murmured against her hair, his gloved hand tracing over her outside shoulder.

Her eyes closed in the sensation, smiling surreptitiously as she nestled in closer, humming in agreement. She could happily get irreversibly lost in that moment, eternally shrouded from everything but the feeling of Gilbert’s warm breath on her temple, his secure embrace, and their interlocking fingers. “I love you.”

The arm around her stilled, the thumb halting in its ministrations. Anne’s eyes bolted open, staring blankly at the space of white before her and wondering if it could swallow her whole. Or perhaps open up a tunnel that led directly straight to Calgary. Of course, the Atlantic ocean idea still stood, as well.

_Gracious Heavenly Father, please disregard any and all past prayers. Just smite me upon whence I stand. Yours truly, an Idiot Carrot._

They’d said it in letters, of course, but it was one thing to write those three words down in the cover of a romantic correspondence, and another thing to say it out loud as Anne just had. In a park. In public. Out of nowhere.

Seriously, now was an appropriate time to strike her down with lightning. She was already on fire, anyway – might as well finish the job and just burn her to a crisp.

She leapt back as far as their proximity would allow; that, admittedly, wasn’t a great deal, as their knees were still bumping, and faces only inches apart. Anne’s eyes were practically popping out of her head as she stared into Gilbert’s inscrutable ones, equally wide in measure and just as astounded at the words she’d just uttered so seamlessly.

“I-I… I…” she began, mouth stuttering as her chest rose and fell in growing fluctuations until suddenly, the heat erupting on her face forced her to look away, swerving in the seat until she could stare at the ground in horror. Gilbert’s hand was still in hers as her mouth began to run incessantly. “I cannot _believe_ I just said that! I mean, I _can_ , and I haven’t a doubt that I mean it, because I wholeheartedly do, but now? Here? Like that? I-I imagined this so many times, and it was usually by a cliffside, o-or in the wonder of a ballroom dance, or by the light of the _moon,_ or... something of grandiose, profound nature and intimacy. Something of _romantical_ nature. Not in a… a public park! I just completely eradicated something that should be said in the right moment, and I wasted it and now I can’t retract it. Not that I _want_ to, of course, but… Oh, positively _capital_ of you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Truly world-class. You and your extraordinary, foolhardy ability to put your foot in it—”

She paused, looking up at the sound of quiet, muffled chuckling beside her. Incredulous, she looked upon Gilbert as he used the knuckles of his fisted free hand to press against his mirthful lips, the edges curling up as his eyes sparkled. Her mouth dropped open, and he just barely stifled a snort. It was when she pouted in indignation, hands coming up to awkwardly rest upon her hips that he finally gasped and laughed aloud, turning his head as his eyes crinkled.

Anne glared at him, the beetroot-red blush fuelling her chagrin into false anger. “Oh, go ahead and laugh at my horrified expense, Gilbert Blythe. Please, _indulge_ yourself in my obvious humiliation. Not like it could get any worse!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just…” he sighed, pinching his brow as his grin slowly quietened down. After a beat, he looked her in her eyes again, flickering his focus between the two as he deliberated his words. He smiled, soft but true, “I honestly cannot imagine you saying those words any other way. It was a very Anne confession.”

She continued to glare at him, but it was laced with a crumb of humour. “If you _thank me_ for saying those words, I may be obliged to whack you over the head with a slate again.”

“Good thing there isn’t a slate in sight”, he smirked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, leaning in closer. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t carried a slate with me ever since that incident. One must always be prepared for altercations with fiendish hazel-eyed boys.”

He gasped softly in mock-horror, and it was almost enough to shatter her pretence of vexation with a bout of giggles. “You wouldn’t dare…”

Returning the gesture, she teetered closer until she could count the individual scatterings of freckles on his sun-kissed complexion. “You should know by now that there isn’t much I would dare _not_ to do. Especially when it comes to personal matters of the heart.”

Something flickered across his face, and for a moment, Anne wondered if perhaps she’d strayed too far from the waters of propriety, too far into the deep of intimacy. After all, despite her good-natured teasing, she was painfully aware he hadn’t exactly reciprocated the sentiment.

After a moment, he pursed his lips. “Well this is a conundrum”, he murmured.

_Oh God. Oh God, why. Why was it a conundrum? She’d crossed the unseen line, hadn’t she? She’d flown over it. She’d said something heedless and he was about to pull away from her. Oh mercy me, she’d put her foot in it AGAIN._

“Uh… w—” she began tentatively, “w-why? What’s the conundrum?”

His gaze swept over her face in a slow, languid arc, before settling at her lips. For a moment, Anne forgot to breathe. Then, he looked back into her eyes, and they were dark pools of absolution. He said softly, but with so much certainty, “Because, well, one… I love you, too,” her heart spiked and thundered like a horse’s hooves in her throat, “and two... we are currently in a very public environment, and I would like nothing more than to kiss you right now.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Anne’s heart had gone from leaping up into her throat to falling all the way down to her gut, spreading a feverish warmth in its wake. The easy way in which he’d said it, as if a universal truth, like he was stating that the sky was blue or that spring would follow winter sent her into a dizzy loop of enraptured dizziness. A breathy laugh escaped her throat as she found her own eyes darting down toward Gilbert’s lips. “Of course you said it so easily… You certainly love leaving me with an overwhelming sense of vertigo, don’t you?”

He hummed softly, dragging her attention back to his soft eyes. Now that he’d uttered the words, it was impossible to not see what flooded his eyes as mere romance, but love. “While I admit it’s quite unintentional, it is also equally endearing and rewarding.”

She chuckled softly, gazing up into his eyes with an ardency to match his own. God help her, she was so, so gone over this boy.

“If I’m being entirely honest,” she began, sliding closer to him until she could feel his breath upon her cheeks, maintaining the eye contact as she whispered, “I don’t care much where we are right now.”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, how improper of you. Rachel Lynde would have an absolute field day if she knew of your scandalous morals.” The words were meant teasingly, but they came out as a heated promise. His eyes were hooded over blown pupils, his face moving interminably closer to her own.

“Let her”, she scoffed lightly through her nose, relishing in the way she saw his skin tingle as her breath danced across it. “Honestly, Gil; when have you and I ever been practitioners of propriety?”

He chuckled once, and it was more like a breath of fresh air upon her soul, before meeting her halfway and closing the distance between them altogether.

She sighed into him and then breathed him in, bringing a hand up to cup the curvature of his jaw, letting her thumb brush across his cheek. The arm that had been resting on the bench behind her came up to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her further into his embrace. She melded against him, from lip, to hand, to heart; totally and unwaveringly surrendered to the moment.

It wasn’t remotely the same as their first kiss; impassioned, rushed, with an overwhelming urgency to just get to each other. They weren’t racing against the clock and their own misfortune; they weren’t dying to be known. Here, in this moment, they _knew_.

There was no uncertainty, but no rush either. It was quiet, measured, like a blissful sigh of relief. Like the first dancing flakes of snow gracing the earth in the promise of more. They would have to part again later; they knew that, but they still had all the time in the world. The rest of their lives, in fact. A simple truth that laughed in the face of one-thousand-and-fifty-three miles.

This kiss wasn’t profound, or overly grand and earth-shattering… but it was just as special. Maybe even more so.

It was a tender assurance, a steady solidarity, like a fond reminder. It was a visceral homecoming.

* * *

Hours later, after the sun had well and truly dipped below the horizon, Anne sat at her vanity desk, a small smile playing her lips as she worked off Gilbert’s notes. Her cheeks had begun to hurt a good thirty minutes prior, but for the life of her, she couldn’t stop them from beaming. The day kept playing over in her mind like an endless record.

After their kiss – their cut-short kiss, thanks to a horrified older lady, who’d scolded them relentlessly for ‘inappropriate public displays of affection’, ‘the gall of the youth of today, _honestly_ ’ – they had resumed their walkabout the town. It hadn’t been nearly as eventful, and they’d indulged in a mixture of idle small talk, jovial banter, and, their new shared interest, stumbling across secret alcoves and stealing surreptitious kisses with grins plastered on their faces. She chuckled softly at one memory, in which Gilbert had been so particularly eager to embrace her that he’d missed her lips entirely and landed on her nose. Anne had subsequently burst into fits of laughter, pointing at the disgruntled look on his face before kissing it clean off. It had all been so wonderfully unscripted, and she relished in every moment.

However, they had both remembered the pressing issue at hand, and taken some time whilst visiting a Ukrainian café to discuss the matter of the Mi’kmaq people. Anne had talked through the past weeks’ experience, mustering the will to break through the lump in her throat when she relayed what had become of Ka’kwet and her father. Gilbert had nodded solemnly, taking his hand in her own when she struggled against a particular point. Without a note of hesitation, he promised to visit the Mi’kmaq village and check upon Ka’kwet’s wellbeing himself during the Christmas holiday. Anne had somehow fallen in love with him even more.

With bowed heads, they’d shared their mutual condolences over the needless pain and loss of life that had become Aluk, and silently agreed upon a minute of silence.

Afterwards, Gilbert hadn’t wasted a moment leaping into action, pleasantly surprising Anne by bringing out some slightly crumpled research notes of his own. They’d deliberated over the correct course of action, both coming up with pros and cons for each suggestion. Amidst one that Gilbert was proposing with a frown, Anne’s eyes lit up with certainty, and she turned to him with a hopeful grin. With a few, minute changes, it could work, she knew it, and Gilbert’s own crooked smile told her he thought so too. Once their much-needed coffee had arrived, Anne had lifted her cup, toasting toward their new plan of action, shared ideals, and intellect, adding a quiet quip about how her possession of the latter was a little more advanced than his. With a roll of his eyes, Gilbert raised his cup to meet her own.

The walk back to the station had been a bittersweet affair, with stolen glances, clasped hands and interlocked fingers. The day had gone by so fast – _too_ fast, really, for either of their likings. It felt like there was still so much to talk about and to do, and they weren’t nearly ready to let go of one another just yet. However, as Anne had watched the approaching train with utter loathing, Gilbert had rubbed his thumb along the inside of her wrist, brushing against the charm bracelet that lay there. She’d met his gaze, brows knitted as she looked up into the hazel pools, watching as emotion swam in their depths. In her periphery, the little violet cyclamen sat proudly in his breast pocket like a medal.

 _“I’ll write to you”,_ he’d said, eyes chasing hers.

 _“Not if I do first”,_ she’d replied with a small smile.

As the train had shuttered to a halt, he’d attempted a quip about parting being such a sweet sorrow, which had in turn earned him a slap on his upper arm. Before he could make even an exclamation of protest, however, Anne had reached up on her toes, placing a light peck upon his rosy cheeks.

She’d stayed on that platform, waving at him until the train faded from view. A pang sounded in her chest, and she’d smiled wryly, before making her own way back home. The girls had been abuzz at the day’s highlights she’d spared, smirking to herself as she recalled the ones privy to Gilbert and her alone. Oh, if only they knew… they would have been positively scandalised. With a tired smile, she’d bid them adieu, gesturing to the bundle of scribbled ideas she and Gilbert had conjured. The remnants of vertigo had swayed with her up the stairs, and she’d barely made it to the desk before collapsing in quiet bliss.

What a day, indeed.

Back in the present, she looked over the notes before her and nodded in satisfaction, closing them up with a knowing tilt of her chin. She now had a plan, a way about securing a direction in which to go. It wouldn’t be a straight path and would undoubtedly take her down some twisting alleyways on occasion. Lord, it may not even lead her to the destination she was intending, but she wasn’t afraid. She had people she could rely on, people she could turn to, people she could love who would love her back just as fiercely. This was not a battle fought by one person, but one fought by an army, by allies, by a team. There were people who would stand with her through thick and thin and fight just as relentlessly as she did; all she had to do was remember that. She knew like the sun would rise, and like Gilbert loved her, that if she stayed true to herself, she would be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Dandelion: the flower of Dreams Come True and Total Faithfulness_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *moira voice* hey you guys want some shirbert?  
> *proceeds to dump a bucket of it on yall heads* there ya go! :D *skips off, singing: 'i see forever in your eyes, i feel okay when i see you smiiiiiiiiile'*
> 
> GOD parts of this were hard to write. i wanted that kiss like i want isolation to end, but i also wanted to make sure they werent going into it with mixed feelings. did you guys like it?  
> hope you're all faring well in these trying times - iso is started to get on my last goddamn nerve, and uni is also being a butt. hopefully this helped bring some joy! 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: strengthened by the support of those around her, anne's feeling like she can take on the whole ass world now. she comes up with a mental to-do list , which includes addressing the poetic boi and the need for a town-wide vibe check


	10. Orchid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revitalised and ready to take on the world and everything it throws at her, Anne does just that. Starting with her bigoted biology teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS MEANT TO COME LAST WEEK IM SO SORRY IM LATE
> 
> Also, I made a playlist for TLOMUH! these are all the songs that have inspired me and spurred me on whilst I've been writing. Find it and give it a listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Znbn04RELaaW90UCmHHhl)

Monday morning brought with it a bone-numbing chill, transparently foreboding of the approaching winter that was to arrive later in the week. However, Anne had an undeterrable warmth in her soul that blossomed out from her chest and through to the very lengths of her fingertips. The remainder of her weekend had been a pleasantly buzzing mixture of quiet, lovesick smiles, sly smirks at Diana’s incessant questioning, and diligent, late-night scribblings. The perfect Sunday to match a perfect Saturday.

Last night and the night prior had seen her get little more than five to six hours of steady slumber, but she hardly felt even a niggling of fatigue at her bones. Diana had pelted her with a pillow at the wee hours of early morning when the redhead had failed to extinguish her lamp, sending a withering glare beneath her barely mussed raven hair. Anne, for her part, had been somewhat bashful, but it was half-hearted in amidst her passion-fuelled purpose. She felt born anew, like a phoenix from the ashes, and she would soar with her fiery tresses across the relentlessly cold sky with a grin on her features.

That was, unfortunately, simply metaphorical, as reality saw her going about the campus with chattering teeth and a coat wrapped around her figure, papers clutched to her chest fervently. She was one of the few brave souls that dared to venture out into the wintry world of snow and wind. The courtyard, which had been alive with traffic just a month ago, was all but a wasteland. Cafes were overflowing, and the executive staff of Queen’s had offered the assembly hall as an informal cafetorium. The floor was cold and hard, but it was nothing compared to what nature had in-store for them beyond the doors. Besides, the ridiculously close proximity they were all forced into had been visibly beneficial in sharing ample body heat – if Pris’ rosy cheeks as she sat squashed beside Josie had been indicative in any way.

Her friends had made haste about ushering themselves into the hall for lunchtime, huddling closely against the biting frost at their tips. Ruby was dutifully tucked under Moody’s wing, the latter rubbing fervent circles on her outer arm as they scurried into the sheltered warmth. Upon realising that Anne had no intention of following the rest of them in, Diana gave her an incredulous look, shaking her head at her. Anne had simply smiled, offering a rushed ‘I’ll be back soon – save me a place to sit, Diana dearest!’ before sprinting out into the unforgiving environment.

The march – or rather _run_ – to the library had been hard on her stiff bones, which were still grudgingly unadjusted to the sudden cold snap that had clenched around the Island. The chill had left her in near hysterics, and she couldn’t help releasing the giggle as she finally snapped the door closed behind her, shivering off the unbidden flakes on her figure. Stepping forward with a self-assured smile, she approached the librarian’s desk. The poor woman responsible for manning it had the lower half of her face sheathed by a faded maroon scarf, heavy mittens donned on her trembling hands. Anne distantly wondered how on earth she was able to scribe records of borrowings with the clumsy garments.

“Good day to you!” she greeted, smiling white and wide at the greying lady.

The smile turned sheepish as the librarian sighed, slowly removing the scarf from her face as she deadpanned the girl before her. “That is yet to be determined…” she muttered, Anne believed somewhat to herself, before saying in a clearer voice, “Regardless, how may I be of assistance?”

“Oh!” The exclamation erupted out of Anne in a jump, and she fumbled with the papers held close to her heart, gently placing one of them on the desk for inspection. “I was wondering if the printing press might be of current availability for student use? Specifically… _my_ use?”

Misty brown eyes blinked once at her. “Yes, the printing press is indeed available. As per regulation, I have to inquire as to what exactly your purposes are for using the machine.”

She lifted a gloved finger to point toward the paper’s text. “These are pamphlets I’ve written and designed for promotional purposes toward a new college club; a club I have instigated.”

“I assume this club was been approved by the school board?”

“Of course, I want to ensure this is done most officially and most honestly”, she said with a tone more serious than anything thus far. “I’m already wholeheartedly invested in seeing it to fruition so it may exist as the world-changing phenomenon I know it can be.”

The librarian lifted a brow at that. “World-changing, eh?”

“World-changing in the personal sense”, Anne reaffirmed, nodding with her hands folded in front of her skirt. An earnest smile bloomed on her features, laced with a thread of pride. “I wish for this club to help change _perspectives_ ; few by few, day by day. Nothing radical of quantity, I assure you, but rather radical of _quality_.”

After a beat of silence, the woman nodded slowly, turning her eyes back down to the typewriter before her, flicking her vision between the keys and the warm mittens. “I see”, she muttered, before jutting her head toward a room on her right with a, “If you need assistance… do _not_ call out. Walk to me yourself. No time for laziness, you hear?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Sparing one last genuine smile for the withered librarian, Anne straightened up and made her way through the creaky mahogany doors. Her lips widened into a grin as her eyes settled on the trusty printing press. She was rickety in her old bones and rattled as Anne placed paper after paper in her clutches, groaning as the young woman methodically pulled the lever.

Apart from the return fare to Bright River those weeks ago and the sparse (or a term of more regularity than she was willing to let on) purchase of coffee, tea and pierogis, Matthew’s sock of coins had remained largely untouched. The act of militant saving had allowed her to maintain a few good dollars which she could dedicate to her current cause. She had bought enough paper to print at least fifty copies of the pamphlet. Thank the stars, she thought as she recalled the way she’d sacrificed last night’s rest for its perfunctory completion.

Looking down at the newest reprint as the ink began to dry, she shifted a critical eye over it. It was simplistic in design and language, as she wished for it to be as transparent and accessible to the public as possible. Emboldened capital letters crested the top with smaller fine print woven beneath. Cole had been charitable enough to carve out a picture onto wood as an accompaniment print. It was situated just beneath paper’s description; two hands clasped together, pointing toward the sky, a wreath of lilac, rose and thyme encircling them. A symbol of strength, solidarity, and youth. She smiled. He would be getting the most illustrious assortment of brushes for Christmas.

By the time she’d completed seemingly ceaseless task, her arm muscles were reduced to numb, aching amoebas hanging from her body. She sighed in elated relief and went about placing the papers neatly and with great care into her case. It was a tight situation amongst her notes, textbooks, and pen, but miraculously and to Anne’s great pride, they fitted without a single crumple.

The case clasped shut with a click and taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Now… onward to the revolution.”

* * *

“Oh Anne! Hello!” Priscilla called from their usual seats, beaming up at the redhead with a brightness that could rival the sun. 

“Pris”, she cooed in way of greeting, sidling eagerly toward the blonde and her immaculately organised study space. “How was your weekend?”

She sighed in contentment, eyes dancing up to beyond the ceiling. “Simply splendid, darling. I’m all but finished with my assessments for the semester, so it was a rather frivolous two days. Nancy and her beau on one of their late-night escapades came across this public house that is brim-full of billiard tables, so a group of us made way there on Saturday.” She waved a flippant hand, “I’m sure you’d have heard that already from Josie, however.”

Anne’s brow and lip quirked, her mind already reeling in questions and possibilities. “I, myself, was out most of Saturday, so, no… had no such idea. And when I _did_ return from my own adventures, Josie was rather… well, unresponsive. She scarcely said or heard a word throughout dinner, but God knows she wouldn’t stop smiling.”

“Oh.” The blonde blinked, a light rouge dusting across the bridge of her nose, her mossy-green eyes darting fleetingly to-and-from Anne’s. “That’s… um… well to say— she… that’s all very—”

Anne bit her lip endearingly as she watched the other girl trip over her words.

Pris eventually settled for clearing her throat, gesturing vaguely to Anne. “Anyway, you seem to be back to your old chipper and spritely self, if I am so astute as to notice?”

“You are certainly most astute in nature,” Anne winked, shuffling in her seat, “and if _you_ are able to honestly note a change in my manner, then I feel reassured it’s an honest change – so, thank you.” Careful fingers unclasped her case and slid into the gap, mindful of prying eyes as she pulled the Biology necessities from its cavern. “I admit I’ve found myself falling into the depths of despair as of late. Less falling and more burrowing, I suppose. It’s been rather pernicious to my studies, relationships, state of mind and overall attitude toward life. I took some time to do some internal re-examining of things; introspection and talking to the right people can do _so_ much for the soul, it turns out.”

Her brows pinched as she twirled her trusty fountain pen in hand. “Being dreary and pessimistic has never really been beneficial for my trespasses. I allowed myself to fall into such depths due to unmalleable circumstance, and it resulted in me becoming detached and removed from knowing what I _could_ change.” She tilted her head up, focusing on the blackboard ahead with profound purpose. “But I opened my eyes to the truth, to my own troubles and mistakes. I realised some things and had other people ascertain them for me, on occasion. But all in all… chipper and spritely Anne is back, and I am _determined_ to ensure she stays.”

Pris made a clucking sound with her tongue like a hen preening her chicks and reached across to give Anne’s hand a firm squeeze. “Well I’m most glad to hear that. I certainly prefer cheery Anne to despondent Anne.”

Anne could nought but offer a small, grateful smile in response before Mr Quinston’s drawl rang out, “Alright, alright, stop the jabber now… Time to actually work. Settle… settle, please.”

He stood at the front of the classroom, lazy eyes sliding over the classroom under his glasses. His arms crossed, fingers drumming against the heavyset coat over his bicep. As the class finally submitted into silence, he released a long-suffering sigh before slowly unhooking his arms. “ _Finally_. I know you have all been completing exams, or have already completed them, but I require your full and undivided attention for our double session today. Besides, I am sure you all used the weekend to recuperate and prepare for another week of learning. It is not Christmas yet, so unless you are willing to relinquish whatever half-decent grade you’ve achieved, I suggest you maintain focus… Understood?”

“Yes, sir”, came the nasally groan of response.

The teacher looked as though he would rather be buffing the shine of a ten-year-unpolished boot. “ _Excellent_. Today we will be having a… class discussion on the topic of evolution, and all that you have learned this semester. This is a good chance to highlight to your peers your own… intelligence, or… lack thereof, and your own ability to comprehend _facts_ and _knowledge_ and turn it into _reasoning_.”

“He talks any slower and he’ll become comatose.”

Anne bit her knuckle at Pris’ whispered jab, sliding her glinting eyes toward the poker-faced blonde.

“Okay”, he sighed, leaning with his palm flat against his desk. “Anyone can answer, anyone can input, though it must be of scholarly and intellectual nature, not mere dribble. Some questions will require deep analysis and understanding of the semester’s content, others shall be needing a deeper look on the humanitarian side of it. You are, of course, trying to learn how to implement the knowledge you gain here into real-world issues. Good? Good. First topical question of discussion is… to what degree should we allow natural selection to enact its natural course? Furthermore, answer why or why not?” He looked lazily around the classroom, adjusting his glasses as he focused on a hand at the back, “Yes, Miss Percival.”

Chocolate-brown-haired Genevieve Percival smiled adroitly toward the front. “Well, sir, as Darwin stated in his findings, natural selection is less of survival of the fittest, as so many tend to misquote, but more on the most _adaptable_ …”

The discussion soon became lively, animated, full of bright eyes, reflexive hands darting up, mouths running like locomotives with facts and opinions erupting from their entrance. No doubt many an aspiring commendation awardee with their sights cast to the near future. Both Anne and Priscilla contributed with their thoughts when the opportunity deemed it suitable, a silent, chummy competition brewing between them as they rushed to raise their hands. The young redhead was in high spirits. It felt good to engage in the sportsmanship of the classroom once more, no longer plighted by the overshadowing guilt and despondency on her conscience. She was absolved of it; born anew, reimagined into her a more fleshed-out version of her former self.

Following a particularly dry discussion segment, Mr Quinston, through the midst of stifling a yawn and rubbing his temple breathed out, “Okay… new trajectory, and final one before I let you heathens out for the day, let’s see… uh, why is it that the _homo sapiens_ have evolved to be of different colours, physical attributes and intellectual function?”

Anne closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose and letting the cool, slightly musty air of the classroom quell the fire that had immediately erupted within. She was steadfast in her resolve; losing her temper at the ignorance would not change its nature, but only stir those concerned further into its clutches. No. If she were to get her point across to these falsity-fed students, and perhaps the blind-sided teacher as well, she would have to do so with an undisputed grace, dignity, and empathy. There was a time and place to fly off the wall at the bigots; this was not one of those. Delicate situations with impressionable minds needed to be handled accordingly, that she was all too aware of.

She would let them say their piece. Allow them to feel that tinge of pride at their own misplaced boast of intelligence before she ineluctably shook the very roots and foundation of their world.

“… and of course, we do need to account for anomalies. Frederick Douglass, for example, shows great intellect in his writings; an intellect that we do not usually see of coloureds, negroes or nitchies. It’s extraordinarily remarkable. I think it would be rather interesting to invest in an experimental study and perhaps see if intelligence is wholly inherited or if it can be learned to a degree. Toss a few coloureds in with some white fellas, let them have a conversation and talk about topics of science, and mathematics, and literature. See if they can grasp at themes and context of them. It’d do well to leave out gyps and Jews out of the equation, though. Can’t have them tampering with the statistics. Other than that, I think that would be very insightful.”

“Perhaps something to look to in your _undoubtedly_ successful career, Mr Jeffery”, Mr Quinston deadpanned. “Anyone else looking to contribute on the matter?”

It was then that Anne raised her hand and head, looking toward the front with a steely gaze and Herculean heart. The teacher’s eyes roved over the classroom, slowly, deliberately, practically begging someone to offer their two cents before finally settling on Anne with a sigh of resignation. “Miss Shirley… If I allow you to speak, there won’t be any outbursts or neglect of decorum, yes?”

She shook her head, rooting her feet firmly into the ground as she rose to a stand. “None at all, sir. I apologise for my previous display of uncivilised behaviour. I’m the perfunctory picture of decorum today; I swear it.”

He seemed to deliberate her words, assessing for sincerity – or perhaps holding out on the dying hope that someone else would step forth – before waving dismissively toward her. “Very well. Go ahead, Miss Shirley.”

“Thank you, sir”, she smiled in accordance, before pulling on her invisible armour and rising to her full height. Turning to the side, she faced her fellow student who had just spoken. “Harold, I think your proposed experiment is a truly wonderful idea.” The boy’s brows raised. “It would be cosmically insightful to observe just what we can _all_ learn from one another, and to see what each of us is lacking in our own mental utility.”

“Oh, but I meant—”

“I’m _very_ aware as what you meant by your words, Harold”, she said calmly, fixing him with a smile. The classroom was watching on in total silence. “You meant to say that people of colour and different ethnicity to what _we presume_ to be ‘the normal white’ are on a different stance of intelligence quotient. That somehow different skin colour, facial features, voices, languages and backgrounds translate into different moralities and mental capabilities… I would like to inquire something, if you would care to indulge me.”

He blinked. “Uh… of—of course. Go right ahead.”

“Thank you. Harold, have you ever actually held conversation with a person of colour?”

“Well… yes, I’ve spoken to a couple before.”

“Interesting. And just what did you talk about?”

The lanky boy looked utterly flabbergasted. “Oh, uh… there was… one my father asked for directions in Ontario and the other, uh… was a busboy. So, he asked if I was finished with my meal.”

“ _Interesting_ ”, Anne repeated, this time with a knowing glint in her eye. “Hypothetically speaking… had one of them sought to engage in a lengthier discussion, say of… politics, or religion, or the great expanse of the universe, would you have obliged them?”

“I…” he began, somewhat flustered as his hackles began to raise, “my parents would have hardly allowed it, see! I mean… they’re dirty! Uncouth, manner-lacking. Same goes with the Italians, and Jews, and Asians, and the pesky, Godforsaken Indians most of all!”

“Thank you, Harold”, she smiled again, nodding toward him before turning to face the mass of students. She was not ignorant to the way Mr Quinston had a wariness about his gaze fixed on her. “Did you all take notice of the way Harold here deflected my question by using his parents as a barricade? That is soon as my questions bordered on the unknown and undreamt in his mind, he closed off, scared for what he might find if he dared to think on his own terms. To think without the guiding hand of elder belief. What Harold has demonstrated for me and the rest of this class is that bigotry is a learned habit. And do not mistake it for science, because bigotry is what it is”, she proclaimed in a calm, yet commanding voice, eyes surveying on those glued to her own.

Mr Quinston sighed. “Shirley, sit _down_ and stop being all political—"

“You don’t wish for me to be political?” She smiled, hands folded in front her skirt all demure and polite. “Alright then, I won’t be political. _Yet_. After all, this is Biology. I should rather be more prudent and contemporary to use science; factually and accurately, with evidence that I could never begin to _dream_ of fabricating.

“We’ve all learned that _homo sapiens_ – us, the current and only iteration of human today – have been roaming the Earth for three-hundred-thousand years. That’s a lot, isn’t it? We ourselves are on the cusp of a new century, the _twentieth century_ ”, she heralded with a wide gesture of her hands, smiling to the class. “And how exciting is that? To deliberate on all that humans have accomplished in twenty centuries, two-thousand years in this current era since Christ’s time. We’ve witnessed empires and kingdoms rise and fall, wars divide and unite countries, incredible, unimaginable industrial progress that has man traversing the globe in no time at all. Man taking to the skies, the depths of sea. Building democracies and modern medicine, the ability to treat diseases that would have once completely eradicated entire populations of people. It’s wondrous to ponder our history and accomplishments, is it not?”

Seizing the opportunity, she stepped out from her desk and began to pace around the room in a slow, deliberate manner. “Interesting facts about the formation of humanity, many of which you all already know. Did you know that it takes at least two million years for a new species to come into actualisation? Two million. The _homo sapiens_ have only been around for fifteen percent of that time, and at the start, we all looked identical, originating from one singular location: Africa. Archaeologists speculate that before we began to migrate over the world, we developed the capacity for language. That was around fifty-thousand years ago. From Africa, to Asia, to the Americas, to Australia, and to Europe, they moved. Originally, we all looked the same; short and stout, lighter-skinned but not so pale, mere shadows of the intelligent creatures we were to become. But, of course, with the vast variety of climates and environments, we were to adapt accordingly. Inhabitants of dry, hotter climates determined stronger melanin in skin pigmentation to protect against the sun’s harsh and harmful rays. Language evolved into the hundreds of iterations, some sampling close off of others in dialect, pronunciation and vocalisation, depending on their physical relativity to other people.”

“Do you have a point you wish to assert, Shirley,” Mr Quinston sighed as he pinched his brow, “or is this just nonsensical babble?”

“In due time, sir”, she reassured, nodding placatingly toward him. “You don’t reach your discussion without first revealing the method and results.”

Priscilla barely stifled a scoff at her seat.

The middle-aged man rolled his eyes. “Make haste on it, then.”

“Linking back to our industrial and scientific accomplishments as humanity, and well… there’s enough content for me to discuss unhalting for a week, perhaps even a month. Of course, I _won’t_ do that, for you’d all sooner riot and have me bludgeoned out of the classroom. However, I’d like to draw your focus to some particular accomplishments. Irrigation spanning across hundreds of miles of land, infrastructure that guards an entire borderline, and medicine that prevents and heals the unhealable. Now, of course, your minds are probably running trying to grapple at which German scientist is responsible for these findings, which French architect could be so wise as to master, or perhaps an Italian who’s ingenuity is to be thanked for such amazing, revolutionising advancements. Would that be a valid assumption?”

A few sparse nods echoed around the classroom. Anne felt the approaching crux of her uprising argument building in her like a swooping crescendo.

With a shred half-smirk, she continued, poised and dignified, “Well then, prepare to have your entire scope for your imagination re- _envisioned._ The technologically advanced water systems and aqueducts were first innovated by the Incas of South America, and dates back to the fifteen century and earlier. The incredibly goliath barriers of man’s hand? The Great Wall of China – a structure that stands twenty feet tall and spans across more than thirteen _thousand_ miles. And in regards to the wondrous feats of miraculous medical discoveries? Look no further than our own dear island whence we stand, and the brilliant, creative minds of the Indigenous folks who have lived and learned the land for centuries.”

Mr Quinston was stern-faced and grumbling now. “Shirley, this is clearly of some political… suffrage… what-you-call-it agenda. Just sit down—”

“I mean no disrespect, sir, for what I am saying, nor about to say. But if I am to be silenced for having some form of agenda, then should the same not be applied for you?” Anne quirked a quiet brow at him, her tone level and controlled as she stared him down with a silent ferocity. “Or anyone within the education system? Should the method not be to teach objectively and allow the students to decide for themselves? Or, if opinions and views _are_ to be brought in, should they not be brought in on the premise of discussion rather than propaganda? Call my words what you will, but they are undeniably and unequivocally _fact;_ fact that you nor any victorious historian could ever change, so long as one person knows the truth.”

Turning back to face the class, perusing her eyes over each face as she reached out to them, she continued in a cadence of confidence. “Frederick Douglass, Juana Inés de la Cruz, Phillis Wheatley, Emilio Jacinto, Dido Elizabeth Belle, Frances Harper, Tecumseh, Karl Heinrich Ulrichs – I could list them unremittingly. These are just a _handful_ of history’s unspoken heroes that I _implore_ you to research on before setting your minds in stone about certain notions. These brave men and women in history have contributed crucially to the workings of our world today; without which, could be a very different place. We owe them every bit of respect, dignity and gratitude that we can offer. Learn, discover, see the world through your _own_ eyes and decide for yourself what it is you believe. Science teaches us to question _everything_. So, do just that. It is foolish to think that skin pigmentation, linguistic process, nor religious upbringing determines a person’s morality, intelligence, nor worth. We are all _one species_ – prejudice of race and gender is a tool used to segregate us based on false biological evidence. Any one specimen of human is as likely as the next to inherit certain traits from his or her heritage; intelligence, ethics, voice modulation, and physical attributes are all mutually exclusive of each other. They have no direct correlation, and therefore, should not be treated as such.”

Following the end of her declarative spiel, she gazed around the classroom with wide, inquisitive eyes, taking in her classmates’ expressions with keen interest. Many had their heads buried in notes, others chattering amongst themselves, more quietly ignoring her and some sending her a mixture of incredulous and uncomfortable looks. The bell tolled, signalling the end of the school day, and her heart sank with a small exhalation through her nose.

At the front of the classroom, Mr Quinston released another of his signature drawn-out sighs. “And on _that_ note… For homework, read pages three-hundred-and-sixty to three-hundred-and-ninety-four and answer the subsequent questions. They will be crucial in preparing for our next topic of reproduction. Class dismissed, and good day to you all.”

“Thank you, Mr Quinston”, the reluctant chorus sung back, already busying themselves with walking out of the door and into the freedom of three o’clock. Anne hung back, looking down at her closed satchel with quiet disgruntlement, fists clenching as she stared at the pamphlets hidden beneath the leather. She ignored the quiet jeers and jabs at her as they passed.

“Crazy Shirley girl…”

Once they had all passed through the door, Anne released a previously stifled groan. Her fingers ran firmly along her brow line, pressing into the sockets of her eyes.

Beside her, Pris sighed softly, reaching a hand up to rest upon her shoulder, thumb circling in soothing ministrations. “Oh, Anne… I’m so sorry that your words didn’t receive a better response. I personally thought it was _amazing,_ albeit somewhat, uh, unexpected. So eloquent and well-spoken. You should be proud of your efforts, no matter how they were received. Don’t let this instance deter you.”

Smiling reciprocatively, the redhead placed her own hand atop Priscilla’s. “Thank you, Pris-dear. I’m not worried though. Of course, I wish there _had_ been a better response, but wishful thinking does not make it so.” Not pausing in her conversation, she moved to gather her belongings with a note of gumption and purpose, nodding towards the blonde and saying, “I have long-since accepted that universal approval is _impossible_ for any one individual. I still had the notion that it could be for ideals, for groups of people. But now I know that is _also_ impossible. There is _always_ going to be someone who disproves or disagrees, no matter what it is you’re saying. But that shouldn’t stop me from trying. If anything,” she mused quietly, walking toward the door with Priscilla hot on her heel, “it determines me even more to my cause.”

Her friend beamed widely, teeth gleaming in the crisp near-winter air. “That’s very mature of you, Anne. I’m so happy to see you back to yourself. Those few weeks where you were seeming so down on yourself were _awful._ ”

“One cannot hope to change the world for the better if they themselves are not of positive mindset”, she winked.

The two girls shared a small laugh, subconsciously walking huddled against the surrounding bitter-cold. They had barely begun their way along the courtyard’s surrounding corridor’s when a small voice called out, “Excuse me? Anne?”

Turning around, they stopped to see a young woman of slight figure and subtle disposition, dark hair and eyes that stared up at her with an uncertain question in their depths. Anne recognised her as one of the chatty girls who sat behind her and Priscilla in Biology. The redhead smiled affably.

“Hello”, she said all bright and cheery. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know your name.”

“Gabrielle Davis”, she smiled back. There was a slight disparity in her voice modulation. An accent – somewhat American. “My friends call me Elle.”

Anne grinned. “Gabrielle… that’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.” The smile wavered a fraction, and suddenly her doubtful eyes shone more prominently. “I just… well, listening to you talk just then was, nothing short of inspiring.”

“Oh.” Anne blinked, flashing her eyes to Priscilla, who looked just as surprised as she. “I… _Thank you_. So much. I… honestly didn’t think anyone paid my words mind.”

“No, that’s certainly not the case. And thank _you_. Without your words, I seldom believe I’d have found the fortitude to say what I aim to now…”

Anne smiled, crossing her hands over the pleat of her skirt with kind, unwavering eyes loyal to the girl before her. She waited patiently as Gabrielle fumbled with her own navy hem.

“See”, she began with a low, cautious tone, “my mother is of oriental descent. From the Philippines, but also of Spanish lineage. My father was part of the pre-war American reconnaissance, and he’s a redneck throughout his blood. Most people would never guess, of course, because I pass so European, but… it’s lesser for my mother.” She swallowed thick, eyes darting away. “She’s quite predominantly Filipino, and she has faced ample scrutiny throughout her years. Her heritage is often is mistaken as an Indi—as Canadian indigenous.”

Anne reached a sensitive hand toward the girl’s forearm, touching gently along the bunched fabric of her puffed sleeve. Gabrielle lifted a startled eye toward her, like a doe meeting the eyes of its would-be hunter. Then, she softened, breathing deeply before continuing. “For so long, I harboured deep animosity toward them – the indigenous, I mean. Blamed them for my mother not being able to do the simple task of purchasing cloth without facing scrutiny from the white people. It… I didn’t think there was anything wrong with how I thought of it. But…”, her brows knitted, eyes focusing on something unseen, “if my family of immigrants are facing this, then… what must it mean for the people who’ve lived here since before any of us?” She smiled, straightening up to her full height as she affirmed, “I want to thank you for opening my eyes.”

Anne, who had been utterly spellbound within Gabrielle’s speech, didn’t realise her eyes had blurred until she felt the warm wetness trickling down from them onto her cheek.

Gabrielle looked partially horrified, and stepped back with wide, umber eyes flitting over the weepy girl before her. “Oh my— are… are you alright? I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really”, she laughed through the lump in her throat, swiping at the stray moisture. A stupid grin split her face. “I’m happy. Truly. This has made me happier than words could express… which is a rather rare occasion for me.”

“Oh, I’m so glad”, Gabrielle sighed in relief, chuckling along. “For a moment there, I was worried I had offended you somehow.”

“Not even in the slightest! Actually,” she cleared her throat and brought her satchel around. Her skirts rose as she lifted her knee to a nearby seat, resting the case onto her thigh as she unclasped it for its contents. With a triumphant, gleeful exclamation, she lifted one of the pamphlets, thrusting it toward Gabrielle. “I have just started a school club. My hope with it is to open the gates of discussion on topical issues that need to be addressed within the circumference of our town and the wider world. Anyone on campus can join, and if anyone _beyond_ expresses earnest interest, they too are welcome. The goal is to be able to talk openly and express opinions and views that may be considered controversial or overtly political, but to meet them with an open mind regardless. No ideas are discouraged, all are welcome. The important thing is that no one here will feel silenced.” Then, more tentatively, she asked, “Would you be interested in joining?”

She waited in bated silence as Gabrielle’s eyes scrutinised over the page. Priscilla shifted beside her, craning her neck around to read the pamphlet for herself. “ _The Charlottetown Youth Society_ ”, the blonde read. Her sly smirk flashed up at Anne. “How audacious and poignant of you.”

“I am nothing if not audacious and poignant”, Anne winked back. Then, a wistful smile came across her features. “The name actually came from my beau, however. The suggestions before that were even _more_ behemoth in nature.”

“This sounds quite exciting”, Gabrielle mused between them, gaze shifting to a contented steel as she met Anne’s. “I would be _honoured_ to join.”

“I—really?”

“As would I”, Pris declared, nodding toward the slack-jawed Anne. “Speaking as a blasphemous heathen, I _adore_ the blatant display of reversed biblical propaganda. ‘For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart’. Is that an _actual_ quote from the Bible?”

“Indeed, it is”, Anne said with prideful satisfaction. “Extracted directly from 1 Samuel, Chapter Sixteen: Verse Seven.”

Her moss-green eyes lit up and she squealed, “Oh, you brilliant, devilish girl! Yes! Throw those bigoted preachers’ words back in their faces! Oh, my days, this is _true_ divinity.”

The other two shared a chuckle at the ecstatic blond beside them as she twirled around on the spot. A few passerbys spared them disconcerted glances, but they were hardly concerned themselves. Once Pris settled herself, she let out a sharp exhalation, beaming back across at Anne. “So… is there some process of signing up to this ingenious club of yours?”

“Oh! Of course!” Anne slapped a hand to her forehead, before promptly disappearing back into the abyss of her satchel to retrieve an alder-wood clipboard and her beloved fountain pen. She flourished it toward the girls, tapping the pen at the boxes etched onto the clasped paper. “Just print your names in this first box… and then your signatures in the one beside it. Oh! Also, the first meeting is today, if your respective schedules allow you to attend? A few girls from my boarding house and dutiful friends beyond have already made known their interest and will be there. Today will just be introductory and basic formalities – nothing too labyrinthine nor intense.”

Pris hummed considerately, tapping the pen to her chin before passing to the dark-haired girl beside her. “I _did_ have this game of billiards planned, but I can certainly take precedence over this. I _want_ to take precedence over this.”

“I can most definitely come today”, Gabrielle agreed with a gentle nod. “I’ve never really been part of an organisation such as this. It’s rather exciting.”

“Perfect! Oh, this is so serendipitous.” The dynamo that she was, Anne was already gathering up her belongings once more and bustling toward moving down the corridor. “I have a few menial tasks still to complete before the meeting can commence, so I’m afraid I must dash off now, ladies. Four p.m. in Mrs engls’ classroom. Be there.”

“Looking forward to it!” Gabrielle called back.

“See you then, Anne”, Priscilla promised above the afterschool chatter. Anne went sprinting off with a smile secured on her lips.

* * *

Her heart was _pounding_ against the cage of her chest, threatening to burst out at the drop of a dime. She willed it to quieten, holding a hand to her sternum as her eyes fluttered to a close. Deep breaths and focused senses did little to ground her, but it would have to do. Then, of course, she could not become _too_ complacent with the task at hand, anyway. She had to stay alert and attentive, for her words could hold the potential to spark a change.

A few souls had started filing into Mrs Roberts’ dimly lit classroom, greeting Anne with an amicable word or wave of hand. The teacher herself sat at her desk, horn-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose as she graded papers. She kept sliding Anne curious, calculating glances, but the young woman was just glad for it to be that rather than outright disapproval. It had been incredibly fortunate that _any_ of the teachers had agreed to supervise the club, especially given its somewhat outlandish nature. Anne was grateful for the older woman’s assistance, even it was simply charity instead of solidarity.

“How’re you feeling?” whispered Diana into her ear. She had, unsurprisingly, been the very first to arrive.

“Beyond excited… but also consumed by overarching anxiety?” she chuckled ruefully, opening her eyes to gaze around the collecting faces before her.

“That’s only natural, I suppose.” A dainty hand grasped firm at her shoulder. “Don’t waste time fretting, though. You’ll do amazing, and just remember that anyone here is here by choice. They _want_ to listen to what it is you will say.”

“Okay… yes, you’re right”, she breathed out, clenching her fists in self-determination. “I can do this.”

“You can absolutely do this.”

“I can absolutely, undeterrably do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Diana ran her touch down the length of Anne’s arm to squeeze her hand, then let it go, walking toward her seat beside Fred and Jane.

Movement flickered in her periphery, and she tilted her head to the door. Standing at its threshold, waiting expectantly and stoically, was Roy. She sighed. Of course, the other matter that required her thoughtful attention today.

Glancing to ensure that the few participants who had already arrived, she made her way toward the classroom’s entrance. She approached Roy with a small, tight-lipped smile, gesturing for them to move around the doorframe into the hallway. Once there, she steeled herself with a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. Roy stood upright, looking at her quizzically.

“Is everything alright with you, Anne?” His brows furrowed, hands dipping into the pockets of his enormous lavender coat. “When I received the invitation and additional note in my pigeonhole, I became worried for your wellbeing. What ails you, my dearest friend?”

“Roy,” she began, wringing her hands, but maintaining her fortified tone, “it is actually on the subject of friendship that I specifically requested to converse with you before the meeting begins – which, while I'm thinking about it, thank you ever so much for coming. You’ve been a most tremendous help in building the foundation of this young society.”

“Of course, Anne”, he insisted, green eyes boring into her earnestly and filled with light. “I’m happy to offer my humble services to a dame as extraordinary as you. No matter in what form they come.”

“Which brings me around to…” she trailed off, taking a slither of time to control her breathing. Lord, had there really been a time she had worried about acquiring even one suitor? And now, here she was, denying the advances from one of perfectly handsome and respectful nature in favour of her heart’s true desire. Fate, you jester of the universal court. “I would count you as one of my dearest friends. Despite not having known each other all that long, it’s transparently evident that we are kindred spirits. And I have been so fortunate to share my extravagant tastes in literature with someone so attuned to their very words.”

He smiled softly, nodding his head gratefully.

Anne breathed in through her nose. “But see, as we did when we first met, I must place my foot down resolutely and declare that ‘friends’ is the extent of our relationship, and all it will ever be.” She watched as his expression shifted, darkening in its wake, but she continued. “While it can be tumultuous at times, my relationship with Gilbert is one of my most beloved treasures in life, and I wouldn’t dare risk the sun and moon to jeopardise it. There have been times I noticed you treading across that line of friendship and something more, and I myself slipped on occasion. I cannot allow that anymore, never again, and I am so, so very sorry if I ever led you to believe that there may be something more.”

“Anne…” he began, sighing deeply as her ran a hand back through his tousled, dark locks. “I… I acknowledge what you’re saying, and I respect you enough to believe you know what you’re talking about, but I just need to know… are you sure?” he asked softly, eyes meeting her own again. “I just… I _do_ care for you, ardently so, and I would hate for you to be hurt. I have seen in the past weeks the frustration that has been building on your conscious like a brewing lightning storm, and I know that your fractious relationship to Gilbert has played its role in that. I would _never_ do anything to discomfort or displace you – are you sure that he could give you that?”

“Yes, I am sure, but not of Gilbert never discomforting me. No… _definitely_ not that”, she released a quiet chuckle, glancing down reminiscently. “I am undoubtedly certain that in a life with Gilbert, he will absolutely discomfort and displace me, as I will him. But I wouldn’t have it any other way”, came softly, weightily into the air around them. “Gilbert challenges me like no other person alive. He keeps me on my toes, constantly questioning everything around me, save for the certainty of our adoration. He takes the mickey out of me mercilessly, and we fight like cats and dogs, and like an old married couple. And that is precisely why he owns my heart. Fully and completely.” She paused in her fiddling, glancing up to meet Roy’s eye in unwavering honesty. “It took me a while to figure that out – almost _too_ long to figure it out – but I have now, and the truth of that epiphany is wrapped around my heart like armour. I could never ignore it again.”

Roy considered her a moment longer, brows furrowing across his drawn expression. Then he sighed, removing his hands from his pockets as he nodded considerably. “It’s obvious you have given this ample thought… well, as long as you are certain of yourself Anne…?”

“I am”, she nodded sadly, understandingly. “I’m resolved in my ordinance.”

His lip quirked up at that, curling at the edges as he exhaled short and sharp. “I suppose I must concede to good old Gilbert, then. He better appreciate the incredible gal he has”, he added with a half-hearted mirthful wink.

“Oh, trust me, he does”, she added earnestly, smiling up at the lengthy boy before her. Then, in a tentative voice, she cocked her head in a hopeful lilt, “Still friends?”

“Of course, Anne”, he chuckled softly, opening his arms to her. Anne didn’t hesitate to reciprocate the gesture, wrapping her own around his thick, lavender coat. “We _are_ kindred spirits, after all.”

“And I am so very delighted we are”, she proclaimed as they broke away from the embrace, her hands squeezing over his biceps accordingly. “Now, kindred spirit, what say we head back inside and start this meeting of minds?”

“I’d say that’s a most judicious suggestion”, he nodded before flourishing his hand toward the door. “After you, leader of the revolutionaries.”

Anne snorted as she curtsied. “Thank you, amiable knight of justice.”

Sharing in a bout of chuckles once more, they walked in together, peeling off at the doorway; Roy to float back in amongst the gathering attendees and Anne to the front of the classroom, positioned at an invisible lectern. Gazing out among the quaint crowd, she smiled.

It wasn’t an overtly large sum of people; she had never expected it to be, but it was still more than she had imagined it would be. Diana shot her looks of encouragement, with Fred raising a thumb up beside her. To their right was Jane and Tillie, who were smiling expectantly at her, eyes wide with curiosity. Behind them, perched along a row of chairs, were Priscilla and Josie, who’s gaze wavered between one another and Anne as they conversed in hushed tones. Across the aisle and currently being joined by Roy, to Anne’s absolute delight, were Cole and Alistair, both beaming up at her with outlandish grins and proud eyes. Ruby and Moody sat in front of them and were obviously absorbed in their own little world, making eyes and lovesick clucks at each other. Her shoulders fell upon realising Gabrielle was nowhere to be seen, but she quickly shrugged the feeling off. It was miracle this many had manifested as is, even if they all were her friends. She would be grateful for what she had.

Taking in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and faced the room. “If we’re all set to begin, I would like to commence this juvenile meeting and open with saying thank you. Thank you all for coming and supporting this youthful club of mine. After all, it would not be a club without members—”

“Oh dear, no, they’re starting!” a newly familiar voice called from outside and down the hallway. “Hurry up, you lot, we’re going to be late!”

The congregation swivelled in their seats to face the sound, watching in perplexed amusement as a group of five rather dishevelled-looking youths came crashing through. Mrs Roberts looked affronted. Anne was simply elated.

Leading the charge of hooligans, currently leaning over in laboured breaths, was Gabrielle, who was trying to straighten herself up as she waved abashedly toward the front. “Hello”, she gasped, swallowing thickly, “Hi, so sorry I’m late. I was… I was rounding up some chums of mine… all of whom I _knew_ would be interested… Is it… Oh, I’m so sorry, trying to catch my breath… Can they please join?”

Anne, after a moment of stunned silence, burst in glee. “Of course! Of course, please, come in!” she gestured as the new boys and girls began shifting their way into the classroom, melding into the fold of existing occupants. “The more the merrier!”

Once they were all situated comfortably, she continued, full to the brim in hope and all-consuming energy. “As I was saying, I could never even dream to host this club without all of you here today, so from the deepest depths of my heart, thank you. Also, can we all please thank Mrs Roberts,” she gestured toward the quiet English teacher, “who so charitably agreed to mediate and supervise this and possible future meetings. She plays a most vital role in the proper functioning of this meeting, as well. You are truly one of a kind, Mrs Roberts, and I am _eternally_ grateful to you sacrificing your Monday afternoons in such a manner.”

A small round of applause, including a rather loud cheer from Alistair, was directed toward the surprised teacher. She waved dismissively, cheeks rosy as she turned back to her papers. “You can all thank me by keeping the noise level to a minimum whilst I grade, thank you.”

Nodding once to the teacher, Anne turned back to group settled before her, stoic and strong as she stepped forward. “If you are here today, you are here because… well, I thrust a pamphlet in your face in some outrageous manner and with wild eyes insisted you attend,” she quirked a brow as a few chuckles rang around her, “but also… because you believe the world isn’t perfect. It isn’t as good as it _could_ be. You envision it a certain way, different to what it is now, and you smile wistfully. More likely than not, you also feel _alone_ in your dreams. You feel unheard, silenced; that if you dared speak up and put a voice to your thoughts, you would be cuffed, shunned, or worse…”

A few people shifted in their seats, eyes darting toward hers intently as she continued. “In this club, you need never fear that _cursed_ sting of judgement. What I hope to create here is to hold this place where discussion can occur _without_ fear of prejudice nor offense. It’s a safe place where everything you wish to say matters, and that ‘everything’ will always be taken in seriously. You will be treated with respect, but in turn, will be expected to reciprocate that same attitude toward fellow members. The aim here is to discuss these new, wondrous, and perhaps unthought-of ideas with an open mind, so that we may see the world through each other’s eyes and have the ambition of changing it for the better.

“Do not be afraid of the discomfort of change”, she paused in her stride, letting her voice carry and swirl around the entirety of the room. Unlike in her biology class, there was total silence, and all attention zeroed on her like she was Joan of Arc on the cusp of victory at Orleans. “Be afraid of the stagnancy of stalemate. If change were easy, it would occur constantly, and there would be no semblance of regularity about the world. Progress is something that needs to be monitored, well-planned and executed. Change is… daunting, yes, but it is also _exhilarating_ , and it has happened for millennia before us.

“Those who know me personally know of my fond affinity for words.” A few snorts and something that sounded like ‘that’s _one_ thing to call it’ bubbled around. She chuckled. “Well, a synonym for both change and progress is _evolution_. And evolution is how we humans have come to be the intelligent, empathetic, courageous, persistent, unwavering beings we are today. And unless we continue to look at evolution, at progress, at _change_ with a wide, assessing fixation, we will remain stuck in a loop of perpetual stalemate. And what good does that do anyone?”

She continued her purposeful stroll, interweaving between the aisles and rows. “For change to occur, though, we need to actively look to new, possibly uncertain ideas as they emerge. We may not always agree, but if we play our part in empathy and understanding to our fellow men and women, brothers and sisters, no matter of economic class, skin colour, gender, or age, we may see to a brighter, wider future. _That_ … is the goal of this club. So, any questions?”

A palpable silence followed. Anne swallowed deeply, biting her lip. Grounding herself with a breath, she swerved in her stance and turned to face the group before her. Their expressions were pokerfaced – even Diana, who was simply staring at Anne with wide eyes and a small, curved ‘o’ forming at her lips. The quiet echoed around her like the toll of a bell, and she suddenly wished to be absorbed into the floor.

_Oh, please, someone, anyone say something._

After a beat, a hand slowly raised. Anne recognised it to be one of the boys who had arrived with Gabrielle – a stout lad with curly brown hair sticking out from under his boater. Gesturing towards him modestly, she smiled. “Yes, um…?”

“Oh”, he exclaimed, reaching up to remove the hat covering his mess of locks. “Hello, to those I haven’t met. Name’s Timothy Stewards; feel free to call me Tim, though.” Clearing his throat, hat now clutched in front of his trousers, Timothy continued. “I was just wondering, in regards to, um… comin’ up with topics and thoughts to discuss, is there a particular process we go about that? ‘Cause I mean, I’ve got somethin’ in mind, but if there’s a system already in place, you know; way about delegating what it is we talk about each week—”

“Oo, like a roster! O-or a timetable!” exclaimed Pris, who burst from her seat with glinting green eyes. She pointed to Tim, who now resembled a rather startled deer. “I have _just_ the idea for that, actually, if Anne would permit me become a sort minutes convenor…?”

“Y-yes, thank you, Pris”, Anne blinked, still rather unsure where the sudden energy of the room had come from. People were suddenly leaning in toward her, talking amongst each other and looking toward Anne with smiles in their eyes. It could hardly have been her speech; it wasn’t _that_ rousing… Was it? “Obviously, today is just a preliminary gathering, of sorts. Way by introduction to one another and of course the generalisation of the club, as I just ran over. But, if anyone here besides Tim _does_ have a topic they would care to discuss in upcoming meetings, if they would perhaps write it down, uh…” she paused, going toward her satchel to remove the clipboard. Hastily, she removed the sign-up sheet in place for a fresh one. Once attached, she walked back toward the rows, and held it out to any intercepting hands. “Yes, here we go. Any thing you would be inclined to share from the contents of your mind, simply write a couple of words describing the topic, then your name beside it.”

“Can I have that after you, Diana?”

“Josie, _miha,_ I am most _definitely_ relieving it from your hands afterwards. I have _many,_ many things on my mind that need attention.”

“You’re getting worked up again, cherub. Just simmer down.”

“Never, _mi corazon.”_

Anne crossed an arm over her middle, holding tight at her jacket as her eyes began to water. Her free hand rose to her mouth and fisted above it as it split into a barely containable grin. The emerging bustle of the classroom set her blood into a river of languid fire – the type of roaring wildfire that burned on passion and determination. Once a simple candle in her chest, it was now unstoppable, conjoining with the lights in the others’ eyes and forming into one megafire. Its flames licked at her insides, making her want to dance and jump and sing to the heavens above. It was a feeling that thrummed to the ends of her fingers and toes, to the very root of her being, and she prayed with a teary grin that it would never leave her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Orchid: the flower of Maturity, Thoughtfulness, and a Beautiful Lady_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing this chapter, psychoanalysing every minute detail about the characters, their relationships, the conversation, making it into one big detective string board: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY BRAIN CELLS ARE FRYINGGGGGG
> 
> fr the amount of research that went into this chapter aLONE?? oof... my guy... so much. i need to nap.  
> OH AND IF YOU MISSED IT IN THE BEGINNING NOTES, i made a playlist for this fic. its a whole vibe. chuck it a listen <3
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! i honestly would consider this to be one of the most, if not THE most crucial chapter in the story. it felt so prevalent to what anne was trying to do throughout the entire show, and i wanted to try and capture just a fraction of that here. and ngl, i kinda cried with anne at the end. baby deserves all the support and love.
> 
> thank you so much for the ongoing support -- Y'ALL ARE THE BEST AND I LOVE YOU. HERE, HAVE A VIRTUAL DONUT 🍩 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER -- bad news - despite the absolute WIN for anne a week ago, she and some of the girls get a reminder that the world is still effed up. a jarring reminder. big oof. -good news - we visit someone whos been dearly missed and in dire need of hugs


	11. Queen Anne's Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne makes a long-needed journey to ensure the well-being of a loved one. After the matter, she arrives back home to Charlottetown and makes a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has suffered a prejudiced injustice. You are important. You are wonderful. You are so loved. You MATTER.  
> Happy Pride Month and Black Lives Matter <3
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: MENTIONS OF RACISM AND SEXUAL ASSAULT (also billy andrews cos ew)

_Dearest Gil,_

_Firstly, you had better take impeccable pride and care in the flower I bestowed upon you. That little cyclamen has championed through to the start of winter and holds the strength of Achilles. Do not test the limits of its durability any further, for I fear it may be hanging on by a thread. Perhaps press it into the pages of a book. I’ve found that to be a wonderful method of preservation, so you may admire its delicate beauty longer._

_You’ve scarcely been gone two days and I already miss you so, my love. It was so easy – once we smoothened out the ruffles – to fall back into regularity with you. Though, you probably laugh at the word ‘regularity’ as I do. As if anything is regular about our relationship. I suppose I instead mean the sturdiness of our foundation that holds up our unconquerable teamwork. I can scarcely wait for the future to see what we can achieve when there isn’t one thousand and fifty-three miles apart. As I went about our mission today, I held your words and supportive in my heart and my mind. Whenever I felt uneasiness settle about my shoulders, I simply took myself back to our time at the café, to when we addressed the town-hall on censorship and humans rights, to when we saved our teacher with potato lightbulbs. We are an incredible team, and I know that as long as I remember that, nothing is impossible._

_I wish you could be here to witness just what transpired today. Oh Gil, it was nothing short of transcendent. My biology teacher, the deplorable man I have never held respect for, decided to introduce a discussion on the topic of why, in essence, bigotry toward people of other ethnicities is not only acceptable, but backed by science. You can surely imagine my imminent indignation. All I could think of was Ka’kwet, her parents, Bash, Mary, little Delphie, and every part of my being needed to go into a blind rage. However, I tried that the first time weeks ago, and subsequently got kicked out of the room. As I went about it this time, I knew I’d have to pander to the manners instilled within this unethical classroom. Well, safe to say, I delivered a blow founded on both morality and scientific fact that surely shook his roots, and all while staying calm and in control. Oh, to see the look on his face, Gil. You would have been proud. I certainly was._

_Then, of course, came the first ever meeting of the Charlottetown Youth Society. Gilbert, we had an attendance of seventeen. Seventeen! Can you believe it? I still cannot, and I saw it with my own eyes. Everyone was so excited about the prospect of the club, and after the introduction, we bounded immediately into the depths of discussion. Several people raised issues to discuss at later days – some of them were questionable in content, but their presenters had the right spirit – and I believe we have a truly wonderful platform to start really talking about these issues within our world. Who knows? Perhaps in time, the club will gain more traction and publicity, and we may welcome even more members!_

_I know that our numbers are currently small and seemingly surmountable, but the change starts with us. Every person who decides to fight for what is right is like a stone being cast across a lake. In the vastness of it, it hardly creates an impact. But every time it skips across the tremendous waters, ripples are made in its wake. Those ripples flow out, pushing past any obstacle to span across the lake until eventually, waves roll over the previously stilled waters. Alone and silent, we remain miniscule, but together, amplifying each other’s voices, we can invoke real change in the world. That change starts with us choosing to not be complicit of the injustices surrounding us. We can be that change. We will not sit idle waiting for it to occur. We refuse._

_I hope the remainder of your exams go well. I am most certain they will – you’re much too intelligent and vigilant with your studies to let them be anything but exemplary. I must remind you, however, to listen to her most esteemed Doctor Oak; go about the town, enjoy the public house with your chums, get to know them better. You’ll be spending the next three and a half years with them, so best make them enjoyable. Your wonderful professor certainly knows how to balance work and play, and I will certainly be heeding the words she shared with you as well as what you shared with me. She’s a most wise and becoming woman of society, and I know she cares ardently for the well-being of you and your classmates not just as future doctors, but as fellow people. I hold her in the highest regard, though I have yet to meet her. I hope to one day rectify that. Be sure to let her know of that._

_Oh, you know I could write to you for hours, and send you a short novel on every topic I wish to discuss with you. However, I must draw this particular correspondence to a close, for Diana is giving me a rather blasphemous look at it being a late hour. I must also keep some things to talk with you in person, of course!_

_I’ll bid you adieu for now, my dearest darling. Stay warm, stay rested, stay happy, and know that my heart lays with you in Toronto._

_All my universal love to you,_

_Your Anne x_

_P.S. If that blasted roommate of yours tries to put ideas in your head again, tell him that I shall astral project myself to not only enwrap you in my embrace, but smack him upside the head. With a slate, of course._

Gilbert snorted into his fist, eyes glinting as they flashed to where Richard was studying him with a curious look. Upon his blue eyes narrowing as they darted between Gilbert and the note in his hand, the Canadian-born waved a dismissive hand, grinning as he kicked back and fell back onto his mattress. By the candlelight near his bed, he lifted the letter and read over the cursive writing again. Something swelled to a crescendo in his chest, something that threatened to spill over the edges and send his elevated body to the stars. It wasn’t just love; nor was pride the word he was looking for.

It was so much more than that.

If he wrote to Anne and asked her to try and describe the immense, unquenchable fire within his soul, he doubted even she would have the words. She may come close, but it would not be able to do the real thing justice.

It was like every single amazing emotion that a man could possibly feel was trying to be squished into his body. It was admiration, wonderment, satisfaction, incredulity, exhilaration. World-shifting love.

They had done this. He and his beautiful, brilliant Anne had done this, and they had done it together. And this was barely even the beginning. The winds of change were a mere breeze right now, but with Anne at the helm of justice, they would continue forth into the future with hope filling their sails. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and spin her to the stars where she belonged, pirouetting her all the way.

The grin splitting his face was ushering tears, but he hardly noticed as he pressed the letter to his chest with a careful fervency. Lord, he was proud. He was so, so proud of his girl. He loved her so much, and there wasn’t a force in heaven or hell that could shake the faith he held in her and himself. Together, they were going to induce some real change. His eyes fluttered shut as he focused on his wonderful family back home. Bash, his brother beyond blood, who had stood by him through everything. Little Delphine, who he would gift the entire world to if the Lord allowed it so. Hazel, the all-caring matriarch who had so quickly become an integral part of his family. Elijah, whose second chance was being capitalised upon, taking care of his beloved ones through solidarity and shared love in Gilbert’s absence. And Mary, the angel God had reclaimed far, far too soon, who he would sorely miss until their final reunion. He hoped beyond hope she was watching, and that she was proud.

A single tear slipped down the side of his face, and he chuckled in a whisper.

The squeak of bedsprings adjacent to Gilbert informed him of his roommate’s shifting. “Blythe, mate, you alright there?”

“I’m soaring in seventh heaven, pal”, the young man sighed, shaking his head as he stared up at the ceiling in quiet bliss. His breath danced above his face, swirling around the chilling December air. Winter had brought with it the usual chill of uncertainty, but Gilbert felt nothing but warm. The fire within his core spread out through its flames to every fibre of his being, lighting him from the inside like a lantern in the darkest cavern. It was a warmth that would see him to the daylight on the other side, past all the exams and jive of Toronto to his homecoming in Avonlea. It would ground him and bring him solace to his rather lonesome birthday approaching. On that day, surrounding by chums at the bar and riding a segue to next semester’s teachings, he would think of nothing but his beautiful, diverse, and enriched family.

Despite his current existence in this cold, musty apartment, it was a good day. And he knew there would be plenty more good days to come.

With the consideration of florist to their flowers, he folded the letter in half, pressing it to his lips in a gentle kiss before reaching to his bedside table. There, he placed it in a file within the drawer, tucked right next to a petite, pressed violet flower.

* * *

The first thing Anne became aware of was the tepid aroma of a bonfire and a freshly baked bread sort of smell. She closed her eyes as she let the fragrances flood her senses, sighing as they departed to join the wind once more. A smile pried her eyes open once more, and she gazed around at the snow-blanketed world as the buggy ambled through it. The dark-brown mare at its helm was placing her feet in a meticulous manner, arching each one high in a slow prance before letting it sink into the one-foot snow. The audible chattering of teeth sounded by her side, and she couldn’t help snorting.

“Really, Bash, after three years of Canadian winter, surely you would be accustomed to the chill?”

“Anne, you better be kinder to the poor man driving you out into this ridiculous winter”, Bash warned through a shiver, shaky hands pulling incessantly at the cuffs of his fourth-layer jacket. “Teasin’ him will not stand you in his good graces. Might feel inclined to just leave you out in the cold.”

She chuckled, lifting a hand to pat him on the shoulder. “Someone is starting to sound very much like their mother.”

“Aye”, he jutted a finger into her grinning face, pulling on the reins a fraction and slowing the buggy. “I’m warnin’ you now, don’t even joke about that, hm?”

“Okay, okay”, Anne laughed, rubbing her gloved hands together. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m just evening the score for Gilbert. Apparently, you were quite the heathen in your relentless teasing of him.”

The Trinidadian let out a bark, smiling as he urged the mare on once more. “I guess I should hardly be surprised. The nerve of that boy, though, goin’ about and sullying my good name. If it weren’t for me rightfully callin' him a moke, he may’ve stayed blind to what he was feelin’. You _both_ should be thanking me, really.”

Anne’s brows furrowed. “A… a moke?”

“Like a donkey.”

“Well, I suppose he can certainly be as obtuse as one.”

Bash promptly let out a wheeze, doubling over on himself as he slapped his knee. The sound sent some wood-coloured doves flying from the surrounding trees. Anne briefly mourned their absence before turning around to nudge the man beside her playfully. “How awfully rude of you. You scared away the poor darlings.”

“Anne, give ‘em more credit”, he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They’re a whole lot tougher than they look.”

Anne hummed noncommittally, watching as the birds flittered above them for a moment before coming to settle on a bare-boned tree a short distance away. They ruffled their feathers, cooing softly to one another as they resumed their huddle once more. A snow-tinted smile curved over Anne’s lips.

“That it up ahead?” Bash’s voice called into her daydream. Blinking, she turned back around to peek through Bash’s line of vision.

Rather quickly did the slight curvature blossom into a beaming grin. She nodded through the feeling of wind-bitten cheeks rising to her eyes. “Yes. Yes, that’s it.”

At that, Bash clicked his tongue, urging the mare onward.

“Jeanie will be fine tied to a branch, won’t she?”

“Without a doubt. She as mellow as anything, this old girl.” The man wooed to the steadfast mare, leading her into a halt.

Anne smiled across at him as he stepped out of the carriage and went about untying the long reins, threading them out of the mechanisms with the air of a practiced veteran. “You’ve become quite the horseman; could certainly give Gilbert a run for his money.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that”, Bash chuckled as he looped the reins around the branch in one fluid motion. After the fact, he turned to Anne, flashing his brilliant, bright smile. “Boy might suffer a stab at his pride.”

“He’ll live.” The young redhead smiled back, reaching for the buggy frame as she hoisted herself out. She did so with unreasonable effort, and landed in the crunching snow with a grunt. It would have been so much easier without this godforsaken corset. “Besides, I am most certain he would agree with me. You have quite the natural gift.”

“Well, thank you, but not too much natural about it, I’m afraid. Tacking a horse for ridin’, I’m a fish out ‘a water, but for cartin’? Whatever gift I may or may not possess is the product of years and years of practice.”

Anne’s brows knitted as he stepped in stride with her, looping her arm through his proffered one as they stood against the winter cold. “How do you mean?”

The only accompanying sound was the ambience of a pearly world around them, the crunch of snow at their feet, and their equally harsh breathing. It was staccato-esque and deep, and was let out in swirls of warmth to the crispness, dancing a languid dance. Then, Bash sighed through his nose. “Not too sure what you may’ve heard from Blythe over the years, but I, uh… I wasn’t exactly a free man most my life. Don’t get me wrong, I had it better than my grandparents and their parents,” he interjected with a rueful chuckle and jut of his head, “but just ‘cause slavery been abolished for nearly seventy years, doesn’t mean we was treated equal to the white folk… We still aren’t.”

A thousand possible replies ran through Anne’s ravenous mind, but she quelled them. Instead, she settled for a forlorn smile, reaching a hand over the top of Bash’s arm. Upon the pressure, he looked up at her and returned the grim expressional gesture.

He shook his head lightly. “I apologise, Anne. You got enough to worry about. Don’t need to be worryin’ about old me, now.”

“Bash,” she said with a soft severity, “if there is one thing I have learned recently, it is that concealing your emotions to try preserve the well-being of others does nothing but detriment. It’s a noble ambition, truly, and stems from a place of consideration, but you just inadvertently push those who care for you away.” She squeezed his forearm. “You don’t need to fret over telling me. I’m here to listen and to learn.”

“You and Gilbert”, Bash sighed after a moment, deep hickory eyes sparkling. “You both got hearts bigger than your wee bodies.”

Pride swelled in Anne’s chest at the sentiment.

A beat passed in which Bash looked up to the sky. Gentle flakes of snow caught in his beard and caught in his dark lashes. “Young black boy growin’ up in Trinidad in the eighties… not much to do for fun. Mom was always workin’ the house, lookin’ after those white babies. Never saw her much. When I did see her, though, she warned me – and I can remember this like it was yesterday – ‘Sebastian, don’t you go sticking your nose where it don’t belong. Stay in the shadows, keep quiet, keep your head down.’”

“I sense you didn’t exactly heed her advice?”

He scoffed lightly, watching as his dark boots churned up the snow. “You know, I mostly did. I was a pretty level-headed kid; knew that trouble would come knockin’ even if I weren’t searching for it. Still would like to consider myself the same. But… there was this one time… I was about twelve, playin’ around on a Sunday after church. Me and a couple other boys were muckin’ around with slingshots and sticks, sword-fighting and playing kings.” Anne’s eyes flickered back as Bash’s jaw grinded. “Out ‘a nowhere, this voice just screams out ‘You lot! Weapons on the ground!’, and my heart just leaps out my chest. I throw the stick I was holdin’ to the side and fall to the ground, placin’ my hands over my head. And I’m tremblin’ – tremblin’ more than I am now”, he stuttered out, teeth chattering as his brows furrowed.

“I hear one of the boys, Alexander, still playin’ around and laughin’ like it’s all one big joke. Then this deafenin’ bang blasts through my ears, and I hear this scream. I look up from my spot, and Alex has dropped to the ground, and he’s cryin’ like an infant while clutchin’ his arm. And there’s blood…” his voice dropped, eyes dark in a memory. Anne, fully transported in the waking horror, simply gripped harder on Bash. “Bullet of the constable’s pistol had grazed him, leavin’ a nick in its tracks. We waited till the man left us, and we rushed to him and got him to his mother. She cried many tears… but I think in relief.”

“R-relief?” Anne choked out.

“Relief it wasn’t worse.”

Anne barely had time to register her own shock before Bash continued.

“Anyway, after that, we stopped playin’ games. That’s when I started lookin’ for work – busboy of the cafes, a valet for their horses, polishin’ their shoes. That’s how I learned the knacks of horse carts and carriages. Even worked the unpaid kind – just to keep busy, just to appease the white men and constables so I was appearin’ productive to society. They don’t take to kindly to see us socialisin’ the way they would.”

“You were _twelve_ ”, she breathed into the breeze, face aghast in horror and engulfing rage. “You _should_ have been playing games! Not working at all! Any person who tries to contradict that is immoral and uncaring.”

“Apparently not if you’re coloured.” The disdain was dripping from Bash’s voice, but with a bob of his Adam’s apple, he swallowed it back down. “I rotated through those jobs till I was… about your age, actually. Then hopped on a steamer and got to workin’ the coal. It was filthy work, mind, but man, the world was so wide and wonderful to see from the ports. I was just takin’ it day by day till Blythe showed up and showed me there was another path for me. One I could never have imagined, but am forever grateful I found.”

Anne blinked away the moisture of her eyes. “I’m grateful you found it, too.”

Bash smiled, raising a hand to place atop hers. It was warm and comforting in the cold that wracked Anne to her bones. “And I am so ever thankful that you are, Anne. You give me hope that people care, and people think I matter. You help me believe that people can see me for more than just the colour of my skin. That one day, I won’t go about in public and be met with stares and looks and immediate distrust. That everyone like me will have that.”

“Bash.” Anne tugged on his arm, pulling them to a stop. The man’s brow quirked in response as she stood before him, clutching his arm with urgency.

“It’ll happen”, Anne declared, fire blazing within her soul. She met Bash’s eyes with that passionate inferno, and said, “That day will come, and it will be _yours_. I don’t know when, or where, but it will, and it will shine from heaven’s gates themselves. I know there are people beyond Gilbert and me who are as impassioned about justice and equality, and I know that they will continue to fight alongside you until that day comes. I promise you that as long as I have power of my mind and body that I will fight relentlessly for justice, a brighter future, and for freedom. For you, for Hazel, for Elijah, for little Delphie, and for Mary. I will not stop until the whole world realises your worth and what you can bring to it.”

His smile quivered as he stared at Anne for a moment, eyes darting to and from hers before he chuckled, “You may be fighting through to the afterlife.”

“Like death could stop me”, she jested with a flippant roll of her eyes.

They shared in a lightened laughter, one that caught on the chilly winter breeze surrounding them, and carried up to the wispy clouds above. After a moment, Bash squeezed her hand once, drawing her attention to his smiling face.

“Thank you, Anne. From the bottom of my heart.”

Her brows pinched as her lips curved, and she released his hand to bring him fully into her hug. “Of course, Bash. We’re family, after all.”

“That we are.” He pat her back before pulling away to direct her a smile that reached his eyes. “Ready to see your friend?”

Anne hummed as they returned to their original position and began to walk forward once more. “I think so. I just pray to the Lord that she’s alright.”

“Well… you’ll find that out now.”

With her unlinked arm, Anne reached up to push aside an overhanging branch and opened their path to the clearing ahead. Immediately, warmth spread out from her soul to her entire being.

The Mi’kmaq village manifested like a vision of her dreams, as lively and laughter-filled as Anne remembered it to be. Children screamed through lit-up faces as they played about, throwing around a small ball with netted sticks in their grasps. They yelled as the ball flew past their reach and cheered when it got caught at the last fleeting second. Mothers and older siblings scolded them as they got too close to the fire and workstations. Women conversed easily as nimble hands threaded baskets. Men kissed their wives as they moved toward the fire, slugging bags of trout, lobster and bass on their shoulders. Said wives screwed up their faces, promptly shooing their husbands off when the stench of fish grew unbearable. Both would laugh at each other’s expense, going back to their jobs with grins about them. It was simply magical.

Suddenly, amidst the joyful pandemonium, two particular children’s faces presented before her in stunned silence. There was a moment before recognition flittered across their faces and they let out a scream.

Bash gripped tighter at Anne’s arm when adults swung around with registered fear, bracing for whatever ambush had disrupted their peaceful existence. “ _Melkita'ulamun_!”

Anne squealed in delight, opening her arms as the two children came careering toward her. “ _Kitpu, Mimikej!_ ” Their little frames crashed into hers, the three of them bursting into laughter. Anne squeezed them tight to her bosom, wrapping them in her large coat before pulling back, smile still present on her face. “ _Pusu'l, witapji'jl. Me’ talein?”_

Mimikej pouted, rubbing at her arms fiercely. “ _Pejipug Amitgig… wele'g!”_

Anne cooed, reaching forward to rub her gloved hands up and down the length of the little girl’s jacketed arms. “ _Saputaqatg welp'teg siggwe'l.”_

Kitpu raised a brow at her, eyes flickering between Anne and Bash, who now stood behind her. “ _Wisqatesguatl. Goqwei net, Melkita'ulamun?_ ”

The redhead paused in her actions, pulling back a fraction as she began to fiddle with her gloves. By now, many other children and adults had come to investigate this strange white girl with fiery hair that could speak their native tongue. Storm-blue eyes flittered back to Bash, and he gave her a small crooked smile. Facing back around, she addressed the small mass. “ _Ka’kwet… me' tale'g?”_

One of the elder men sucked in a deep breath, eyes darkening as a cloud crossed over his face. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned her to follow. Anne’s old boots scuffed in the snow as she hurried to her feet, brushing her skirt off in quick strokes before stepping forth. Eyes followed her and Bash as they walked through the camp, whispers hovering in the whistling air around them. Anne seldom spared them more than a quick tilt of her head as her vision narrowed onto the wigwam ahead. She swallowed thick as the elder ahead of her looked back, offering a small smile, dark eyes shining as the delicate flakes fell about them.

He stopped at the wigwam’s entrance, with a hand poised at the thatch flap. _“Oqwatnuk, Ka’kwet witape'sgwal oqwa'q.”_

_“Wela'lin, Hakoda.”_

There was a rustling within the shelter, and Anne’s breathed hitched with a hiss. After a few moments, a delicate hand pried the door open from within, followed by a head sticking out, smile blossoming on her face. “Anne.”

“Oqwatnuk,” Anne exhaled softly, “it’s so wonderful to see you again. Oh,” she paused, suddenly remembering the extent of her present company and gesturing to Bash, who stood shivering just behind her, “This is… Sebastian. _Ninen wigmaq.”_

From her periphery, Bash waved a shivering hand.

Oqwatnuk blinked, brown eyes shifting between the two newcomers with incredulity. “ _Wigmaq…?”_

“Anne”, Bash’s breath whispered against her ear, “What is wigmaq? Why has it offended this lady?”

Anne, relishing a little too much in the wonderment bouncing off each of her companions, chuckled in the hilarity. “She’s not offended. Probably just largely confounded.”

“You’re being devilish, Anne. Bloody Blythe rubbin’ off on you, and not for the better.”

“Oh, hush”, she giggled, bumping her shoulder against his.

Oqwatnuk, seemingly satisfied with the display she had just witnessed and discerned, smiled at Bash. Mittened hands came forward to grasp his surprised ones, and with a heavily accented voice yet clear cadence said, “Nice to meet you, Sebastian.”

Bash blinked a few times before smiling, covering her hands with his own in a small, informal shake. “The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

Anne watched the exchange unfold, waiting for the moment for her to ask quietly, tentatively, “ _Oqwatnuk, me' talo'teget Ka’kwet?”_

The mother tutted, face contorting into endearment, arms opened in a similar fashion to the way Anne’s had for her children not minutes ago. “Come, come”, she beckoned, lifting the flap of the wigwam.

Anne swallowed past the clump that cemented in her throat, breath shuddering out as she glanced back once at Bash before taking a step forth. She ducked beneath Oqwatnuk’s raised arm and welcoming smile, steeling herself as she stepped over the threshold. Upon stepping in, Anne let out a sharp exhalation.

Propped against the wall, weary yet content smile on her face, sat Ka’kwet. The young girl grinned up at her older friend, lashes fluttering lazily as she muttered, “Hello, Anne.”

“Oh my— You’re okay!” Anne gasped, coming to kneel by the fur blankets surrounding her friend’s pale frame. Her eyes roved over Ka’kwet’s still pale face, taking in every minute detail she could. In the month since Anne had come across her feeble, fading figure, she had already flourished back into a certain strength. She still had a slight tremble, but her eyes were alive and alert, brim-full of the inquisitive intelligence that Anne had come to know her to possess. The blemishes were all but darkening scars, fading into the predominance of her skin.

It was a serendipitous happening that made Anne’s faith in miracles all the more strong.

Anne rested a hand atop Ka’kwet’s. “How are you feeling?”

The young Mi’kmaq girl smiled, reaching her free hand to rub her head. “Quite well, actually. I am still a bit tired and with aches, and I cough like a wolf howls, but… better. Much better.”

Relief coursing through her like a melting river of ice, Anne chuckled. “So very to your namesake, my resilient little starfish. I should have known you would come out smiling through this. You could not anticipate how much my soul wringed itself with worry for you these past weeks. I’m so irrepressibly glad to see you are well.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you”, the young girl said abashedly, directing her sombre eyes toward her mother. “I worried a lot of people I care for.”

Anne glanced down, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt as she kneeled. “I’m so terribly sorry for your happened to your father, Ka’kwet. He was an incredible and kind man.”

Ka’kwet smiled sadly, nodding her head as she visibly swallowed. “I do not remember much from those few days, as the fever took and made me hazy. My mother had to tell me what became of my father, and everything he did to save me.” She sighed, glancing up beyond the ceiling of the wigwam to the sky above. “I miss him every day, and I always will, but I have faith he is in a place of eternal sunshine now. He is with _Kji-Niskam,_ and I will be reunited with him some day. We both will”, she murmured with a hopeful glance to Oqwatnuk.

Her mother smiled, nodding as she cast her eyes down. Anne’s heart pinched at the sight.

“How is college, Anne? It has been so long since we talked, I hardly know what you do in your days.”

“Oh”, the redhead uttered, focusing back on her starry-eyed companion. A heat to combat to snow rose upon her cheeks. “Well, it’s… it’s largely a wonderful experience. There have been potholes along the road thus far, but I have been blessed with the most unprecedentedly wonderful compatriots by my side, supporting me and bringing light to the world when it felt too dark. I am learning _so_ much, and more than just from within the classroom. I’m learning about the broad scope of the world and the delicate intricacies that make it so mesmerising.”

“Sounds wonderful”, the young girl said with a supplementary smile.

“It certainly has been.” Guilt gnawed lightly at Anne’s stomach, but she pushed it away. It would not do well to dwell on unchangeable things. With a newfound focus, she said, “Actually, I have very recently started a club.”

“What is a club?” Ka’kwet blinked up at her friend.

“It’s a… well, it’s a collection of people with similar interests who meet to expand upon that interest. In this case, we have dubbed it the Charlottetown Youth Society. It is dedicated to the cause of open discussion and bridging the paths of difference to connect on a middle ground. My hope in founding it is to encourage those who join to look _beyond_ their own lives and what they know to seek the _unknown_ ; to go into it with a clear conscience and open mind. It is my sincerest hope that in dismantling ignorance, we dismantle the fear that it breeds. We will go beyond nationality, gender, appearance, language, religion – everything that is used to separate people – and we will reverse its purpose and use it to connect and expand our curious minds.”

“Wow…” Ka’kwet muttered, brown eyes shining at Anne in rapture. “I would love to learn about the world in such a way. Perhaps have the world learn something from me as well.”

“I believe _anything_ you deem worthy enough to offer the world would be astronomical”, Anne acknowledged thoughtfully. She was entirely earnest in the sentiment; Ka’kwet had an abundance of love and wisdom to proffer to anyone who would take the time to get her theirs. What Ka’kwet had experienced the past year was a mere pothole in the expanse of her life. The twelve-year-old showed a resilience, compassion, and intelligence beyond her years, and it would only transcend as the years went on. This was not the end of her journey into global discovery – it was only the beginning. She was going to do astounding things with her life, for she, like Anne, saw the world not for what it was, but what it could be. That hopeful tenacity would lead her through the hailstorms of the universe and see her through to the rainbow on the other side.

Anne knew that Ka’kwet was capable of more than she knew, more than any of them knew. She would leave a legacy upon the world that would shake it to its very substance. She was truly, honestly one of a kind. But she was also just twelve.

There would come a time when, once both her body, mind, and soul had recovered, she would take another step against the barricade of atavistic ideologies. Anne’s unending imagination materialised images of futures in her mind: Ka’kwet proudly walking through the streets of Charlottetown in her traditional garb, conversing with boundless animation amongst her peers of progressiveness, standing before crowds as she gave testimonies and speeches of the radically needed step toward equality. It was vivid and bright to the point where Anne felt it wasn’t even a dream, but rather a future truth.

It would come one day, but that was not today. Right now, Ka’kwet had to focus on healing herself and re-emerging into her previously stripped culture.

So, Anne smiled as they talked amicably, sharing in jokes and thoughts and musings. Bash came in at the beckon of Ka’kwet, who grinned as the man bowed his head to her before sitting beside the others. It was quaint, quiet, and peaceful, and it was just what Ka’kwet and her mother needed. And that was a perfect circumstance in the eyes of Anne.

* * *

Anne walked back along the snowy streets of Charlottetown that afternoon feeling as though a weight had been alleviated from her shoulders. The morning spent with Bash, Ka’kwet and Oqwatnuk had been like releasing a long-held sigh. To have seen her young friend on death’s doorstep a month ago had nearly left her undone, spirally into desperation as she prayed to her God and any others that would listen for the safety of Ka’kwet. Today, seeing her alive and well and laughing at Bash like the child she was had brought about a welcome sense of peace.

Bash, in his usual gentlemanly manner, had offered his brother’s sweetheart a ride back to Bright River train station. The short trip had been filled with laughter and good-will, snickering at Gilbert’s and each other’s expense as they talked through the light snow. Though not one to gossip, at the teaching of the most esteemed Miss Stacy, Anne revelled in the fact she had elicited some certainly private information from the man that not even the infamous Rachel Lynde had acquired.

Apparently, _Muriel_ had been calling to the Blythe/Lacroix homestead on the regular. Bash, with a rosewood blush, claimed it had largely been to tend to the smoker she had fixed for them; the walks along the frozen creek bed and the bare White Way of Delight were only sparse occurrences. Anne knew better, but she would not pry. She would, of course, relay all of this with a grin in her next letter to Gilbert.

They had bid farewell at the station with an ardent and warm embrace, including Anne pecking the cheek of her extended family member. Bash made her promise to stay fully rugged up even if she were to attend an end of semester soirée. _‘No good dressing up fancy anyway if you catch a cold’,_ he had said a palpable severity.

At the revisit of his words of the morning, a chill coursed up her spine. She clutched closer at the several layers upon her lithe frame, pulling them tight as she huddled against the now biting late-afternoon wind. Her teeth chattered and she hastened her step, moving toward the wrought-iron gate as though the sun itself lay within the boarding house.

Upon her approach to bump the latch open, she heard the unmistakeable sound of a raised and agitated voices within. Her steps faltered, brows knitting over her eyes, and walked quietly along the hedge as she perked her ears.

“I already told you – I don’t want a single thing from you”, a voice spoke with quivering determination. Josie’s voice.

Before the next could even reply, Anne was on the defensive. There were only so many people who could slither under the boisterous, unflappable young woman’s skin. Immediately, her gaze narrowed, and she began marching with a brewing fire.

“Come _on,_ Josie”, the infuriating voice of Billy Andrews pleaded. “Just one more chance. That’s all I’m asking. I promise we can work this out.”

“I have given you my answer – _several_ times, in fact. I stand by it. Now, please, get off the premises.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

“I let you say your piece the first time. That was a pleasantry you did _not_ deserve, yet I still gave to you. Please, just go”, her voice shook at the end.

“No, I’m not going anywhere.”

A snarl built at the back of Anne’s throat, glaring through a grimace on her face. As she went to let known her righteous fury, another voice, proud and true, like a lighthouse beam through a night-storm, demanded, “You heard her, Andrews. She is not interested. Respect her decision and walk away with dignity while you still retain a shred of it. You are just embarrassing yourself by further broaching a closed matter. Leave.”

_Pris._

As Anne watched from the gate, the young, golden-haired woman stood fiercely in front of Josie upon the porch. Behind the two of them was Tillie and Diana – the only other girls who hadn’t made plans with their beaus for that day – and they held gently to their friend, whose chest was rising and falling in trepidation. Their eyes were wary and uncertain, unlike Priscilla, who stood glaring defiantly at Billy.

The man scoffed, shaking his head. “And what are you gonna do about it, you crone? Force me out yourself?”

“If it comes to that”, she answered with a lift of her brow.

He chuckled in response, fitting his hands upon his hips. “I would just love to see a little girl like you try.”

_I cannot stand by and hear another second of this._

“Threatening and utilising violence against women, Billy Andrews.” Anne stepped through the gate, meeting the man’s wide eye as he swung around to face her. “I’m unpleasantly unsurprised to see not much has changed.”

Under the surface, no. Not much had changed at all – but that was as Anne would have suspected. In his outward manner, however, everything seemed to be wholly out of place for Billy Andrews.

Despite having never once liked him, Anne could not deny that physically he was proportionately balanced in a shallowly handsome way. He carried himself with purpose, confidence, and dignity. He commanded attention in the way a person born into wealth did and had no qualms about his heritage or upbringing. He was muscularly lean, with tidy golden-brown hair and a strong jaw. He was cool, sophisticated – arguably so – and he knew it.

That was how Anne had last seen him at that ill-fated barn-dance. Before her stood an entirely different being. This Billy was rotund and dishevelled in every possible aspect. His once chiselled jaw now disappeared into his neck, cheeks puffed and reddened. His hair had grown longer and stuck out unkempt. Gilbert’s hair too was messy, but endearingly so. His curls were as wild as his heart, and they spoke of his joyful spirit. Billy’s ramrod straight tuffs looked as though they had not been combed or washed with proper attention in weeks. His posture was slightly hunched over, broad shoulders slumping forward.

It sent Anne for a whirl, and she blinked upon the revelation.

She watched as his eye twitched in lividity, finger lifting accusingly at her. Suddenly, it was as though his particular plight with In a voice full of venom, he hissed, “ _You._ This is all your fault, you damn, dirty bitch.” He began stalking over toward her in rapid strides, and Anne took a measured step back. “I’m gonna finally teach you that lesson I should’ve _years_ ago.”

He raised a fist over his head, eyes glinting menacingly as he grinned. “And this time, Blythe isn’t around to save you.”

Before he could lower his hand, Anne pursed her lips and sucked in a breath. In one brilliant, fluid moment of clarity, she picked up her leg and swung it forward with the strength of Hercules, thrusting her heavy boot in between the legs of Billy.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Billy’s eyes bulged out of his head as he slumped forward, gawking with a choked groan before he stumbled to the side. Anne watched him topple with a barely concealed smirk, humming at her work as she laid in the cold grass, clutching at his groan as he curled into a foetal position. His eyes were screwed shut as he groaned, and Anne crossed her arms.

To the side, she heard a mixture of gasps and exclamations. There was a definite cheer from Priscilla.

With a sigh, she squatted down so she was somewhat closer to Billy’s eye level. When she spoke, she let the satisfied disdain course through her tone with an overcoat of patronisation. “I’m most sorry, Billy, but I do not willingly take the advice of ignorant hypocrites. I find it to counterintuitive to the growth of one’s character, wouldn’t you agree?”

He grumbled in response, blue eyes hardening half-heartedly on her.

“Oh, yes, that’s a wise observation”, she noted with flair. “This should _certainly_ be a turning point in your attitude to life. Good on you for recognising that. I underestimated you, it seems.”

“Y-you… goddamn dog.”

Anne shrugged, mouth hardening into a line. “Well, if I _am_ a dog, at least I show loyalty and respect to people, then.” Leaning in closer, arms braced on her knees, she whispered, “Before you go teaching others about slander, maybe you should assess your own treatment of it. Lord knows what you could ascertain from your past shortcomings, if you took the time to see where you went wrong.”

“I… I’m going t-to _ruin_ you…”

“Good luck with that.” Anne said in a deadpan. Then, she rose to her feet, looking over toward the dumbstruck girls. “Pris, would you be so kind as to assist me in escorting Mr Andrews off the property? I don’t think Mrs Blackmore would take too kindly to seeing a figure sprawled on her lawn in such a sordid manner.”

Priscilla huffed, rolling the sleeves of her coat as she approached her friend. “Anne, dear, it would be my most delectable pleasure.”

Together, the young women hauled Billy to his trembling feet, leading him out of the gate and down the footpath. They found a solitary bench to deposit him on, taking slightly less care than they should have as he crumpled into the seat with a groan. At the sound, Priscilla turned to Anne with a look of tremendous pride that asked, _‘Just how hard exactly did you kick him?’_

Before they moved to return to the house, Anne leaned down to his level once again. Making sure she caught his gaze, she confessed, “Oh, and by the way, I said sorry before in regards to your inability to learn from your own misgivings. In no way did I, nor will I _ever_ , apologise for taking a pre-emptive strike before you landed a blow.” She smiled. “Just so I make myself transparent.”

Coming down beside her, Priscilla allowed a smile to light up her cheery demeanour as a warning gleamed in her eyes. “Also, if you ever come near that house _or_ Josie Pye again, I will not hesitate to give you that force you were so anxious to see before. I would suggest not testing the theory.”

Billy could only grunt in reply.

Satisfied, the two girls shared a look before striding back toward the boarding house. Upon re-entering through the gate, the other girls were on them with squeals and gasps.

“Anne, I cannot believe you did that!” Tillie exclaimed, eyes flashing excitedly as she held her hands to her mouth.

“ _I_ can”, Diana chuckled, grinning from ear to ear as she shook her head at her bosom friend. “Anne has been waiting to do that since she first laid eyes on the cad.”

“And my goodness, did it live up to everything I had ever imagined.” She swiped at an invisible tear, smiling as the other girls laughed.

Josie, however, was notably silent. Her ice-blue eyes were focused on something in an unknown distance, clouding as her brows furrowed. Priscilla was the first to notice, and rested a gentle hand on her friend’s arm.

The blonde jolted at the sudden contact, but released a sigh when she met Priscilla’s calm gaze. Anne watched on as the latter rubbed her thumb along Josie’s bicep. “He’s gone now. You’re okay, Jose.”

Sensing the remnants of unease, the other girls quietened and turned their attention back to Josie. Their friend swallowed thickly, nodding stiffly as she smiled. “I-I know, I’m sorry, he just… I saw him go to hit you, Anne, and—” her eyes widened, “—oh, gosh, Anne, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Hey, don’t worry about me”, the redhead smiled, clasping her shaken friend’s shoulder in comfort. “I’m more than fine; I was more furious than frightened, in all honesty. I was actually having to hold myself back from delivering a punch first… but, how are you?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay”, she muttered in what was almost an attempt to convince herself as much as the others. “It was just rather sudden seeing him here. I tried to keep my head up and tell myself I was strong, and I could do this; I could stand against him and stand my ground. I could _do_ it. But then he stepped just a foot closer and it was like I was—like I was back _there._ I-I wasn’t quite ready to be in that position again.”

“Of _course_ not”, Priscilla insisted, brows furrowed as she focused her entire being on Josie, “He’s a horrible excuse of a human being, and even worse of a man. No one expects you to be eternally strong against him, especially if he dares to show his ugly face out of the blue.”

“That’s right”, Diana agreed.

Tillie hummed, reaching a hand across to hold Josie’s. “We’re here for you.”

“You are _fully_ justified to not be okay, Josie. What he did was disgusting and unforgiveable. It’s not something any of us expect you to miraculously get over.” Anne’s hand continued rubbing her friend’s shoulder.

“And we will be by your side every step of the way”, Priscilla’s fervent voice said softly. “You’re not alone in dealing with this, nor will you ever be. That I swear to you.”

Josie’s blue orbs were interlocked with Priscilla’s green. They darted flippantly to the others, but their focus was undeniable as she said, “Thank you. A-All of you.”

Then, Priscilla’s features went impossibly fond and soft, and it was as though the entire world existed in Josie’s eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Something changed in Josie’s open-book expression, and she suddenly stepped back, arms crossing her figure. “I, uh… I need to go inside and um… check on something. In the washroom.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do you want us to come with you?”

“No—no, no,” she dismissed with a wave of her hands as she stepped back. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

Without another word, she scurried up onto the porch and inside the house, slamming the door shut with a bang. The sound made Priscilla jump, and Anne looked on as the blonde cast her gaze down as she fiddled with her hands. She pursed her lips at the action.

Anne stepped forward, offering her friends a lopsided smile as she slowly moved toward the stairs. “I think it best I go ensure she is, in fact, alright. I’ll be back soon.”

The others nodded in silent agreement as Anne walked up the snow-dusted stairs. She took the time to dust off the freckles of snow upon her skirt and coat before opening the door and stepping inside. The warm breadth of the fireplace met her chilled bones, eliciting a soft sigh as she went to remove her boots and outer coat. Readjusting her green jacket, she began the climb up the stairs toward the girls’ washroom. Her hand gliding gently along the railing, eyes tentatively scanning as her ears listening for any minute sound.

It was after a moment that she picked up on a soft, long-suffering sigh.

True to her word, Josie was indeed in the washroom.

As Anne hovered at the doorframe, she observed silently as the blonde girl sat perched in the chaise, head buried in her hands as she looked at the ground.

Taking a deep breath, Anne stepped toward her friend. “Josie?” she called softly.

“I told you – I am _fine_ ”, she groaned, not lifting her head. “Please, I just want to be alone right now.”

Anne’s brows furrowed as she stood in front of her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course you think that.”

The tone was vastly different to the one she had used not yet five minutes ago. It was her old defensive, accusatory tone, the one that had driven people away or scared them into silence. Anne frowned.

“You don’t have to say anything”, she said as she took a seat on the ground, crossing her legs under her skirt. “I’ll just be here in case you do want to talk.”

She grumbled, chest heaving in a sigh, “Whatever, Anne. Do what you want.”

For a few minutes, silence stilled the air surrounding them, providing a stale chill that itched at Anne’s nerves. She let her gaze gravitate around the dimly lit washroom, over the sink, onto the cool tiles beneath her. Scarcely did she let it settle on Josies, but when she did, she was met with the same sight every time – head buried in hands, blonde ringlets falling across her forehead. Whatever internal dilemma she was currently grappling with was radiating off her in waves.

Time continued to pass without any notable change, and Anne had decided to breach into cautious conversation. Before she could utter a single word, however, Josie leapt to her feet with a fuming huff, storming toward the basin where she turned the faucet aggressively. Water streamed out into her hands, and Josie splashed it repeatedly onto her face.

Anne was by her side in seconds. “Josie, talk to me,” she pleaded with a hand between her friend’s shoulder blades, “what’s on your mind right now?”

“Just—nothing.” She gripped the edge of the sink, staring down at the water as it disappeared down the drain. “Billy, I don’t know.”

“I don’t think it _is_ Billy”, Anne said with a shake of her head as she stared her down. “Billy may be part of it, but it is not the story in its entirety.”

“Oh, and you’re just so smart and know everything about everyone, don’t you”, Josie growled, eyes flashing dangerously toward her.

“Of course I don’t, but I would like to believe I know my friends well enough to discern when they are upset and hurting.”

“‘Friends’. After all these years. That is truly laughable.”

“How so?”

“You and I are _barely_ considered friends, so do not buy into a charade to make yourself some hero.”

Anne blinked at her scathing tone. “Josie, what is going on?”

Josie seemed to hardly hear a word. “Let’s be honest here; did you _really_ think you would try to protect my honour one time and suddenly we’re chums? Are you serious? Are you _that_ lost in your own world? After years of me proving time and time again that you’re just street trash?”

“Josie…” Anne said softly, reaching toward the shaking girl.

“Don’t touch me!” She pulled away. “You’ve already infected me with enough of your filth. I hardly need any more now; I’m worse than you.”

“Why are you worse than me?” Anne asked calmly.

“I just am!”

“Why specifically, Josie?” Anne pressed further.

“Because… because I…”

“Why, Josie?” Anne stood before the trembling girl, terse expression clear and probing. “Why are you worse than me?”

“Because I have unholy thoughts!”

At that, the blonde’s eyes shot open, gasp bursting from her lips before she could slap her hands over them. She leapt back to the wall, entire frame shaking as she stared at Anne like she had brandished a pistol. Anne studied her features for a moment, watching as her eyes glinted the way a spooked horse’s would. She sighed, chest deflating as she looked down. Slowly, the redhead moved toward the chaise, gently taking a seat. She patted the space beside her, offering a smile to the petrified blonde.

After a pregnant pause, Josie gulped, coming to sit beside her tentatively. She pressed to the side, shoulders curling over as she huddled in on herself. Anne’s gaze flittered to her.

Josie, whilst fiddling with the stitching of her skirt, muttered softly, “I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t really mean those words.”

“I know. It’s okay”, Anne answered with a sad smile. Truth be told, Josie’s words had hurt, pressing salt into wounds that had not quite healed. However, her friend – for that was what she was – was unequivocally hurting beyond measure, and lashing out in defence of her own fragile heart.

So, Anne stayed on the task at hand. “You said… ‘unholy thoughts.’” She didn’t miss the way Josie tensed. “Could you tell me what you mean by that? Full disclosure, I will not utter a single word outside this bathroom unless you want me to. I swear on Gilbert’s life.”

Amidst her inner crisis, Josie scoffed. “Gilbert’s? Rather bold to swear on the life of your beau, isn’t it?”

“It is. Swearing on my life would feel less substantial, so now you know the sincerity of my oath.”

Blue eyes shot up to meet her own, wide and imploring. After a moment and something flickering in their light depths, Josie nodded. Biting her lip, she looked down to where she continued to fiddle with her skirt. “You’re… rather queer, right?”

_Lord, she is blunter than a mallet._

“Um… I-I suppose?”

Josie hummed, apparently satisfied with the answer. “Right, well… let’s say, hypothetically, I was queer as well. In more… unconventional way.”

“I’d say that being queer doesn’t make you, nor your thoughts, automatically unholy. Queerness doesn’t define who you are. It’s just a piece that makes up the puzzle of your life.”

“But what if… what if it is a sort of life-changing queerness?” Josie’s jaw worked. “What if it makes you question every minute thing you do around people?”

Anne’s smile tightened. “I think I would have a clearer understanding if you could offer an example.”

“I-I guess I could do that.” Josie leaned back, hands clasped in her lap as she stared at the ceiling. She appeared to deliberate on her thoughts before deciding on, “You know when we all dressed up for the soirée at the start of the semester, and had our hair all done and best attire on?”

“Mhm?”

“And… and you know how we all compliment each other and talk about how marvellous we look?”

“Yes?”

Josie breathed in through her nose. “And, of course, you know how there’s a difference in meaning when you are complimented by a girl as opposed to a boy?”

Anne nodded.

“Right, well, uh…” she trailed off, eyes flittering every which way before settling on her shoes, “Hypothetically, um… let’s pretend o-or say that… possibly…”

“Josie,” Anne asked in the gentlest voice she could, “is this about Pris?”

“What?” Josie immediately bolted upright, eyes once again shining on Anne’s like a startled animal. “W-what… how did…”

“I had an inclination.” Anne smiled, wrapping her hands around Josie’s quivering ones. “I see how you two have grown so indescribably close the past few months, and how high a regard you hold each other in. It’s almost startling how much you’ve grown in the time of knowing her.”

Josie’s mouth stuttered silently. “H-how… did you know?”

“No one could know unless they knew what to look for, so don’t worry about the general eye. I only knew because I have other friends of similar… tastes”, she joked with a smile.

Josie let out a series of rushed exhalations, gaze focusing off into something unseen. She shook her head after a beat, then turning back to face Anne with a million questions rattling in her mind. “I don’t—there’s something wrong with me, right? I’m sick or something.”

“No”, Anne affirmed immediately, squeezing her friend’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you in the slightest, dear Josie.”

Then why on earth…” She reached her unoccupied hand to rub at her temple. “I liked Billy, and I thought boys were handsome, but now I… I feel a similar feeling toward Pris? But I still find boys attractive, even if I had a rotten experience with a complete cad… Yes, I still like boys, but now, also, girls? I think?”

“Josie, breathe.”

“I-I can’t. What is _happening_ to me? If I’m going to be sick, can’t God just make me consistently sick? I don’t wish for this… this uncertainty.”

Anne sighed through her nose, glancing down before back up to the blonde. Shifting in the chaise to her body was full directed into the conversation, she said, “Josie, I’m going to ask you something.”

Josie raised a brow. “Okay?”

“Say Billy wasn’t a cad—”

“That’s the most outlandish fantasy I’ve heard of you yet, Anne Shirley.”

“Hear me out!” Anne interjected, raising her hands in a placating manner. “Say he wasn’t. Say he was a charming, kind, considerate, thoughtful, respectful, intelligent, and empathetic young man. Would you be interested in him now?”

“Maybe?” She frowned in consideration. “I… I suppose so.”

Anne nodded slow and deliberate, processing the information in her stride. “Okay… now if… Pris came bounding up the staircase right now, flowers in hand, adoration in her eyes, and professed her undying love to you—"

Crimson lit up Josie’s face and spread across to the tips of her ears. “Anne!”

“A stretch, I know, I’m dramatic; we’ve long since established the fact”, she waved dismissively. “But focus… If Pris told you she cared for you romantically, and there was not a single soul on Earth that would reject the notion of your love, what would you do?”

“I…” she trailed off, a glazed softness overcoming her features, like the first glimpse of sunrise after a winter night. “I’d return her favour. Gladly. Earnestly.”

Anne smiled. “Okay. Now, would you wish for both at the same time, taking upon surreptitious behaviours?”

“God, no!” she exclaimed, hand pressed to her sternum, “Oh no, I… wouldn’t wish to share. And I wouldn’t wish to _be_ shared. I could never… that would be wrong.”

The smile morphed into a radiant grin, and Anne clasped Josie’s hands firmly within her own once more. “Then you have your answer. You’re not some hussy, going around greedily. You’re just a young woman who doesn’t have a capsule on your capacity for love. You have opened your heart to twice as many people. Isn’t that beautiful?” she muttered softly. “You can look at both man and woman and see a future of your own truth. You are _not_ sick, or disturbed, or unholy, Josie. Just… romantically ambidextrous.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Anne laughed, pulling her friend into a hug. “It means you are wonderful and unique as you are, Josie Pye. Don’t ever change.”

The blonde’s arms wrapped around her, and the two girls embraced into the warmth. “Like you would ever let anyone be anything but unique”, she joked with a soft chuckle.

“You better know it.”

Josie’s head butted at her neck as the palms of her hands pressed square against her back. “Thank you, Anne. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I don’t deserve a friend like you.”

“You absolutely do, Josie. You deserve that and more.” Suddenly, a thought crossed Anne’s mind and pulled back, gasp bursting from her lips. “I just had a most effervescent idea.”

“What is it?”

Anne knew her grin was positively heathenish, but she hardly cared. “I can help you win Pris’ affections.”

“Argh, Lord, no”, Josie pulled away, burying her head into her hands once more, “I regret telling you anything.”

“No, but this would be so fun! We can bake her pastries and cakes—”

“No.”

“And we can purchase her coffee in the morning before class—”

“Not in a blue moon.”

“And of course, I happen to know what her favourite flower and who her favourite author is.”

“… Would a flower be in season at this time of year?”

Anne squealed with delight, bringing her friend up to dance around the washroom with her. The two young women’s laughter carried up to the framework of the ceiling and down to the levels below, and soon after, Tillie and Diana were dancing beside them. Apparently, Priscilla had business to attend to back at her own residence and had left with the message of well wishing to Josie. Anne had slid a sly look in her direction when Diana relayed the information, delighting in the way Josie tried to hide her blush once more.

The spontaneous dance had carried through to the night when Ruby and Jane arrived back from their respective activities. Even Lily had joined in with the rhythm of the activity as the girls jumped about the phonograph. Spirits soared above the endless snow outside, and no one felt particularly like sleep. It wasn’t until Lily eventually insisted she would alert Mrs Blackmore if the girls were not in bed before midnight.

It was well into the early morning before sleep claimed Anne. Her mind was far too enraptured with the day’s wondrous events, and she relayed each one other like a silent film. She grinned up at her ceiling, arms cushioning her head. She could not wait to tell Gilbert of all that had happened. The instinctual pang at the thought of him sounded in her heart, and she reached across to her bedside table. There was where she kept her trusty Pen of Possibility, her beloved fountain pen. She thought on the travels the pen had taken and released a soft laugh. Her expression softened, and she brought it toward her lips, pressing the cool metal against them in a gentle kiss.

Today had been a good day. Anne relished in the knowledge that there would be plenty more and even better ones to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Queen Anne's Lace: the flower of Sanctuary and Delicateness_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “… and his dick never worked again 😊. The end.”  
> i apologise for any and all typos. i wrote half of this today, its not 2:30am and my brain is dead.
> 
> Me: On a scale of one to slate to the head, how satisfying was it to kick billy in the nutsack?  
> Anne: it was a toppling christopher columbus statue satisfaction. So like,,, astronomically satisfying.
> 
> ~For everyone who has been participating in any form of protest -- whether outside, online, through donations or advocacy, I SALUTE YOU! To any and all of my black readers, I STAND WITH YOU! the momentum surrounding BLM may slow down, but the fight cannot stop. racism isn't defeated in a day, and will not be defeated by a hashtag. in the words of sir john boyega, 'this is longevity' <3
> 
> MI'KMAQ TRANSLATION:  
> Anne!  
> Kitpu, Mimikej! Hello, little ones. How are you?  
> Winter has come so a bit cold… but otherwise good!  
> Stay warm and you’ll endure to spring  
> It’s surprising to see you. What brings you here, Anne.  
> Ka’kwet… how is she?  
> There is someone to check on Ka’kwet’s health, Oqwatnuk.  
> Thank you, Hakoda. (if you get the atla reference, youre a real one)  
> This is… Sebastian. We are family.  
> Family?  
> Oqwatnuk, how is Ka'kwet feeling?
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: it's gilly boy's birthday!! the mans is 18 wooooo. here's to a cold one with the boys and girls. oh wait... he's in toronto... all his favourite people are yonks away...
> 
> PSA -- pretty much all chaptersfrom here on out are gonna be packed to the brimful of shirbert <3


	12. Viscaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Gilbert's eighteenth birthday, and the hollow greyness of Toronto makes him long desperately for his beloved Avonlea, the sweetness of his apple farm, and vibrance of his Anne.  
> But all of that is one thousand and fifty three miles away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rose from titanic voice* "it's been eighty four years..."
> 
> FR I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMFG  
> life has been an A S S H O L E recently. my grandpa's in hospital and i lost a friend, and work's been crazy, as has uni, and i've also become obsessed with Love Victor and have been writing a fic about that??
> 
> anyway, as promised, this chapter is chockablock full of shirtbert, so i HOPE that makes up for it.  
> THANK YOU FOR 10K HITS AHHHHHHHH  
> enjoy darlings x

“Oi, Blythe. Blythie. Blythie mate.”

Face pressed down into his pillow, Gilbert groaned back to the pestering nuisance above him, “I’m asleep.”

“Nah, ya not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Ding dong, you are wrong.”

“Dick, please,” his voice came out all hoarse and muffled, “It’s Saturday.”

“True, but that’s not _all_ it is today, _hm?_ ”

Sighing into his pillow, Gilbert fumbled blindly around and pulled his blanket up and over his head. “I cannot find myself to care, honestly.”

“Oh, _buh_ , you’re no fun.”

“I am not trying to be fun. I am trying to sleep, but there’s this incessant mayfly buzzing around my ear making that _quite_ the difficulty.”

“Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert…” Richard sighed, footsteps leading away from Gilbert’s bed after a moment, and in that brief period of respite, the young Canadian buried further into his covers in peace.

It was all too short-lived, for the sudden thump on the floor beside him jolted all slumber from his body. “ _Ohhhhhhhhhh…! For… he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellooooow…!”_ Richard’s godawful singing voice screamed in faux-falsetto, “ _And so say all of us!”_

“Eighteen years old and I’m about to become a convicted murderer," Gilbert groaned. “God as my witness will take pity; it would be of just reason.”

Richard just cackled, loud and obnoxious right near Gilbert’s ear as he tried to reclaim the remnants of his rest. “Blythe, come on, you good fella – seize the day! She’s yours for the taking, and you’re a man now!”

Breathing in sharply through his nose, Gilbert slammed a fist into his pillow before swinging around to face his grinning idiot of a roommate in the deadliest glare he could fathom. “You’re not going to leave well enough alone, are you?”

“‘Course not,” the Aussie beamed. “Come on, got a cuppa waitin’ for you in the kitchen.”

“Can’t believe you dignify that glorified stovetop with the label of ‘kitchen’.” Gilbert rubbed his eyes, sitting up with a soft moan and stretch of stiff limbs. Sending his roommate one last ineffectual withering glare, he staggered to his feet, cracking away at his back before pulling another jacket to his aid. It was hardly as cold as Prince Edward, but the lack of fresh country air seemed to make it all the much worse. The air on the island was clean, fragrant, and left your throat perhaps slightly too crisp.

The city air of Toronto simply gave you a premature cough.

Gilbert yawned as he plonked down into his chair, bleary eyes still blinking in the dawning light around him. Moaning, he turned his lidded gaze toward where Richard was preparing a teapot whilst whistling. “What time is it?”

“Just gone seven, my good lad,” he replied nonchalantly.

Gilbert’s jaw dropped. “Are you… are you _mad?_ I tell you this is the one day I don’t have a shift at the bakery, the first day in _months_ in which I don’t have to study, and you think it a good idea to wake me before eight a.m.?”

“Mate, it’s your first free day in aeons which is _precisely_ why you best be up at the crack of dawn. It’s only a week until Christmas break, and then it’ll be straight back into the books.” Richard set the cup beside Gilbert and leaned his forearms onto the chair across, fixing him with a stern eye. “This is your one weekend of freedom in Toronto, Blythe. There’s pubs, there’s drinkin’, there’s ragtime, there’s girls doin’ the hoochie coochie! You’d be a right fool to waste your day on sleep.”

He reflected an equally stern expression. “Dick, I’m involved with Anne. Happily, wholeheartedly involved. I don’t need to be seeing other women doing… hoochie coochies.”

“Okay,” Richard sighed, “I hear you. I will happily take upon the heavy burden that is your share of dancing girls. Two burdens per girl.” Gilbert scoffed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, gently lifting the tea to his lips. “But come on, the rest of it? It’s your _birthday._ We have to do something, surely.”

Gilbert’s lips quirked at the corners. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but really, it’s been a long and rather trying year, and I would prefer to start this one on a more… unruffled note. So, if that means I spend my eighteenth birthday quaintly curled up in bed reading a good book, then that’s what I shall do.”

“Blythe, you’re killin’ me here”, he deadpanned with a shake of his head before pulling out the chair. “I admire your tenacity and dedication, I really do, and you’ll make an upstanding doctor for it. But you can’t spend your days doing nothin’ but studying and pining. Take some time for yourself and come out with the boys. We’re catchin’ billiards today?”

Gilbert looked at his roommate over the rim of his cup with measured askance. The young Australian was trembling with bated excitement (though, Gilbert did suppose a large portion of that was amounted to the cold), eyes shining brightly with his wild grin. They had done this dance ever since moving in together; the weekend would arrive, Richard would come bounding like a puppy with propositions of adventure, Gilbert would politely decline and turn back to his books and letters, and that would be the end of it for a week. Whilst the young, boisterous immigrant did not always go on par with his views, they had grown equally fond of one another over the past few months, and Gilbert knew he had his best interests instilled for him.

His eyes flickered toward the front door, focusing on it momentarily before sighing out, head bowing in the exhalation. “How’s about tonight?”

Richard’s eyes bolted open. “Wait… really?”

“Yeah. If you and the rest of the gents are going dancing and pub-hopping, I might as well join in.”

“You’re pullin’ my leg right now, aren’t you?”

“I swear to you that I’m not.”

“Swear on your fluffy, woollen socks.”

Gilbert snorted incredulously. “I… swear on my fluffy, woollen socks.”

“I will be damned.” Richard slapped the table and leaned back, folding his arm over the back of his chair as he grinned. “Gilbert Johnny-boy Blythe is hittin’ the town. Welcome to the twentieth century, folks, where miracles transpire every day.”

“Still got another fortnight, pal,” Gilbert smirked as he sipped away at his tea.

Richard flashed an ebullient grin his way as he went to slip on his coat. “Alright, well, I have to head on over to the barbershop so I can pay out my pocket soundly tonight. Find yourself ready at six p.m. for a quick supper, and then we’ll head on out, meet up with the boys at Dixie Doo’s and then the night of nights begins.”

He snorted. “I’m quivering in anticipation.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Richard replied with a wink. Then, he pulled open the front door, tipping his hat with an exaggerated bow. “Best of days, Blythe!”

“Good day to you, as well, you fool!”

Gilbert let out a bark of laughter as his roommate leapt into the air and clicked his heels together before shutting the door. He shook his head, lifting the teacup to his lips once more and moaning softly as the deliciously warm liquid travelled down to his stomach. Finishing it far too quickly, he leant over to Richard’s side of the table and picked up the newspaper sitting there. He cleared his throat, crossed his legs, and leaned back in his chair as he began to flick through the pages.

Boer War updates, a case of the plague in Hawaii – undoubted that Dr Oak would incorporate that into their studies next semester – preparations for the celebration of the new century, a four-month-old baby being crowned King of Swaziland… Gilbert sighed as he tapped his foot on air. For a moment, he sat there in idle contemplation before yawning once, rising slowly in a groan, and stretching out his back as he walked over to his and Richard’s stash of envelopes and paper. He took one of each out and idly noticed that they were starting to run low, to which he made the mental notice of stopping by the post office to pick up some more when the chance arose. For now, however, his mind was entirely too occupied by the thoughts of apple orchards, exuberant laughter, and red hair flying in the wind.

He sat back down with a smile, pulling the pen from his pocket that he always carried with him, and began to write.

_My beautiful, wonderful family,_

_First and foremost, I apologise for my tardiness in writing you all. The assessment schedule at the University is nothing short of manic, especially for us of scientific degrees. I admit I have neglected you, my loved ones in Avonlea, in order to pursue total concentration. Needless to say, total concentration was hard even then when I kept thinking of you lot bundling in by the hearth as the weather became harsh. Happy Advent to you all. I wish I were there with you – my apartment in the city has practically no insulation._

_I must say, I cannot wait to see you all again in one week’s time. I have just been reading the paper, hoping to ascertain some points of discussable interest, but it is much of the same as always. Toronto generally is, and not in a quaint way. The city has been a wonderful experience, but my heart is on Prince Edward Island, tucked away in Avonlea with all of you._

_Bash, read this to Dellie, would you: Hello, baby girl! Uncle Gilly is coming to give you a big, big hug!_

_Hazel, as mentioned in previous letters, I have become a baker’s apprentice whilst studying, in a bid to pay for my crumbling-at-the-seams homestay. You best believe I will be in the kitchen, preparing the best brioche bread you have ever tasted! This probably comes as a shock, but in earnest I promise I will be assisting greatly with preparing the meals for Christmas and New Years’. I won’t hear a word of resistance – I know how much Bash eats, and you will need all the help you can get._

_Elijah, I hope you have settled in comfortably these past few months. I look forward to getting to know you better once I am back home. If you are interested, I was mulling over showing you to the Barry’s Pond – it will be well and truly frozen over by now, and perfect for skating. I’ve tried to convince Bash to try all these years, but he constantly complains of his back and his knees and his general frozen state. Perhaps you’ll be up to the challenge?_

_And Bash… oh, Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian… How dare you betray my trust and indulge Anne in my close-kept secrets. Absolute betrayal. In full honesty, thank you for assisting her on the trip to the Mi’kmaq village. It was much needed for both her and I imagine Ka’kwet alike, and I doubt, despite their best wishes, that the Cuthberts would have been entirely open to the idea of her quest. Matthew, perhaps, but Marilla in her omniscience would surely have caught wind and fretted her hair out. I myself plan to pay Ka’kwet a visit upon my arrival back home and assess her health. (Also, yes, I would be partial to make the most the journey and pick the brain of their brilliant medicine woman, but hush.)_

_Going back home… I am smiling by the mere thought. It’ll be everything to see you and everyone else again._

_I miss you, brother._

_I miss you all._

_Stay well, stay warm, and receive every ounce of my love with this letter,_

_Gilbert_

Releasing an audible sigh, he read over the letter once to ensure his sleep-deprived mind hadn’t made any spelling errors. Satisfied, he folded it thrice before slotting it inside an envelope. ‘To Blythe Farm, Avonlea, PEI, Canada C0A 1N0’ was written atop. Gilbert’s mouth pursed. Given the fact that he was the only Blythe still around, and he wasn’t even in residence, the property name felt… wrong. Misplaced. He would talk with Bash about the possibility of reestablishment once back. Perhaps a hyphenated Blythe-Lacroix Farm. Blythe-Lacroix Apple Orchard?

It was a discussion to be had in person over a Christmas roast, not a dismissive passing in a letter.

Gilbert got to his feet and made his way over to the shoe rack, leaning back to glance out the window and gauge the weather. It was a world of white outside, nothing but torrential white upon the frigid city. He winced, but nevertheless leaned down to pull heavy boots onto his icy-numb feet. Despite what he had said to Richard, he was all too keen to get out of the musty, old apartment and into the city air, even if it meant freezing himself half to death in the process. As Anne would say, the world was too wide and too wonderful to be left unexplored… even it was just the smog and cigars of Toronto. He was officially a man now, and lest he let down his father and not step into adulthood with his head held up, eyes wide and inquisitive, and both heart and mind open to all there was.

* * *

Toronto was buzzing with the spirit of Christmas hanging just beyond reach, tethered in the baubles and wreaths hung upon doors. Light snow illuminated by the sun’s meek rays cast tinsel on everything within sight, from people’s heads, to carriages, to the eaves, to the eyelashes of horses. Voices rung out in ethereal harmony from the Cathedral Church of Saint James, and Gilbert scoffed in the juxtaposition from the callous, strained pub songs calling from the bars as he walked by. Seriously, sure it was a Saturday, but mustn’t people have better things to do at two in the afternoon than go day-drinking?

Upon posting the letter, Gilbert had shrugged his shoulders and taken to walking about the city. Christmas did something truly wonderful to the concrete and cobblestone, something that wrung out the smog and mundanity of business and work. Children bounced up to displays, pointing at things behind the glass with unbridled enthusiasm as their parents sighed and brought out their wallets. Couples clung to each other, ladies holding a hand to mink fur hats when the wind tried to tousle them off, their darlings running after them whenever the wind succeeded. Bakeries and cafes were alive and bustling, scents of fresh bread and cooking meat flowing out as people dashed into their warmth. The atmosphere was magnetic.

It still had nothing on his beloved Avonlea, however.

Gilbert chuckled to himself as a couple of fellows came sauntering out of a particularly loud taphouse, leaning on and tripping over each other in mumbled tunes. One of them caught his eye, rosy cheeks appleing into a wide, toothy grin, and he raised an imaginary glass to him. “And _you,_ you young man, y’have y’self a _very_ merry Christmas, and pick up the lasses while y’still can! ‘Fore you become old coots like us!” he laughed, stumbling forward at his own joke.

“Straight lines, Kent, straight lines,” his friend snorted, barely getting words out in any degree of seriousness before he too succumbed to the apparent humour.

“Straight lines ain’t happening, bud; I can hardly sees my hand in front of me.” Kent was wheezing at this point. “Well, I’ll be—I thought I counted _six_ fingers there f’a second.”

Gilbert raised a brow and stepped toward the men. “Are you two alright to find your way? Perhaps you should take a minute to sit and sober up.”

The older men exchanged a glance before bursting into another bout of laughter. “He thinks we… he thinks we wanna… Oh Lord, I can’t breathe…”

“Pal, we’re bar-hopping. Ain’t sobering up anytime soon.”

“You ever been bar-hopping?”

“This wee fella? You kidding, Georgie?”

“Looks can be deceiving, you gigglemug.”

“That’s why I took your niminy-piminy brother for a bearded lady when I first met him.”

“You asking to go fisticuffs with me, you sonuva bitch?”

“You kiss y’mother with that mouth?”

“Nah, that’s how I kiss _yours_.”

Gilbert watched the banter with a perpetually raising eyebrow. “Perhaps… a glass of water for you both?”

“Oh, would you look at him? Look at _him!”_ one of them cooed, swinging off his friend as he pouted, apparently having completely forgotten he just challenged his friend to a fistfight. “Such a wee, cute busboy. Little baby busboy. Bless him…”

“I think I’m going to get that water,” the young man stepped back, fixing the giggling men one last worried glance before taking the stairs in two, calling behind him, “You two stay put!”

“Yessir, yes!”

“It’s sir, yessir, you dunce.”

“Oh, it is, too.”

Shaking his head loose of snow and mild frustration, Gilbert shivered as he stepped into the toasty taphouse, peeling off his cap and wedging it beneath his armpit. He stepped toward the bar, ignoring the lewd calls of both women and men as he waited to capture the bartender’s attention. A sigh escaped him as he leaned onto his forearm, cocking a hip as he shifted his weight. The floorboards shook lightly as people danced and jumped around – some lively ragtime piece was being laid onto a piano by a grinning pianist – and Gilbert found himself nodding his head along.

“Can I help you, young sir?” a voice broke through to him, and he turned to bartender with an abashed smile.

He pushed off the counter, laying his palms firmly onto the surface. “Oh, uh, I’m personally fine, thank you. However, there’s a couple of fellows out there that, frankly, couldn’t be further up the pole if they tried. Mind if I take a jug of water to them?”

The man sighed, and the sound came out raspy and hoarse as he whipped out two beer steins and ran them under the tap. “Those two again… all they ever do is drink ale and smoke cigars. I doubt they even work – or if they do, it’s somethin’ like manufacturing them cigars. You know, one day, some fancy doctors are going to discover that’s bad for your health, but it’ll be too late for ‘em. Too, too late.”

Gilbert simply nods and hums along, pulling his cap back on with a firm tug of his hands, then reaching for the glasses as they were passed to him. He smiled his thanks and turned, keeping a firm grip on the handles as he dodged around a myriad of inebriated patrons. Opening the door shot a blast of icy air directly into his face and behind him, issuing drunken shouts of protests. All Gilbert could do was roll his eyes and rush the door shut in his exit.

The men were still leaning on one another on a garden bed ledge, rocking from side to side like a pendulum as they mumbled an unintelligible tune. Georgie’s eyes flickered up and he grinned as he shook his friend. “Aye… look! It’s the busboy!”

“Bussy busboy! Hehehe…”

Gilbert breathed in deeply through his nose and forced the smile on his face to release its exasperation. “Yes, hello again, gents. Got a pint here for you.”

Kent staggered upright, eyes suddenly shooting wide and bright. “Ale?”

“More like a cure for your ale-ment.”

Kent sat back down with a pout in place, crossing his arms belligerently. “Don’t want a bloody cure.”

“Yeah, so… rackoff, busboy. W’ _fiiiiiine_ …” the man slurred, eyes flickering unfocusedly around as he tipped back and forth.

Gilbert considered himself to be a man of patience – he was courting Anne, which meant by necessity, he had to be – but Lord on high, if he wasn’t finding himself tested in this moment. His teeth were chattering in the unforgiving chill of Toronto, and he hardly wished to be standing around outside longer than was required. Sighing, he tentatively brought the jug closer to them, applying the same tactics he would if it were a couple of skittish foals. “Just indulge me and take a few sips.”

“No!” Georgie exclaimed with a petulant pout, pulling back in a wobbly fashion. “No, I don’t want water!”

Releasing a sigh so full of suffering, poets would wish to dedicate an anecdote or two in its unbridled melancholy, Gilbert stepped forward to brace a hand the older man’s head. A good doctor can never in good conscience leave a patient so helpless. Then, a flash of red in his periphery, and everything else melded into the background as his head shot up.

This was a providential joke. It had to be.

There was no plausible explanation for this in the slightest slither of reality.

Then again, the strength of plausibility faded when put under the bright light that was envisioned before him.

He watched on a moment in starstruck awe, basking in the wake of this transcendent gift, utterly oblivious to the way he had fully and truly neglected all his body but his eyes and heart. He was reminded startlingly with the gawk from next to him, and his head whips back around to see where he was just splashed a fifth of the water on a spluttering, indignant and already shivering Georgie.

“You daft… daft, dim-witted… what is wrong with you?!”

“That’s… that’s one way to sober ‘im up,” Kent wheezed out between laughs.

“Oh! M-my apologies,” Gilbert stuttered, eyes darting between Georgie and the spot across the street. “Truly sorry. Let me, um… let me leave this with you.” He placed the jug beside the two intoxicated men. “If it’s all the same to you, I must do something.”

“Bye-dee bye, busy busboy!” Kent giggled.

“Good riddance, y’loon.”

Gilbert hardly paused to acknowledge their variance of goodbyes before shooting off, nearly getting hit by an automobile in his haste to cross the street. His eyes scoured for their target with fervency as he ran, and he faintly thought he must look half mad at the way he was panting and looking around frantically; social perception was an earthly worry, and hardly of relevance in his current circumstance.

He skidded and slipped on the icy ground, pushing himself off of walls as he chased the shadow down the street. Then, when he was within distance, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Anne!”

Some onlookers looked at him over their shoulders, brows raised in accustomed judgement, but Gilbert could not find an inkling of care for anyone’s attention but one. The figure ahead halted in her tracks, perfectly still except for the breeze billowing through her loosely fashioned ginger bun. She turned sharply, and despite having called her name, Gilbert could hardly believe she was staring back at him with mirrored astonishment.

“Gilbert?”

His heart near palpitated in his chest at the way her voice carried his name on the wind to him like a gift. Exhaling out his quiet euphoria, his lips split into a smile as he whispered back, “Anne.”

The combination of wind and city chatter and sheer distance made it impossible for Anne to have heard, but nevertheless, she grinned so brightly, the snow could not call itself white in comparison. She let out an elated laugh, dropping the bag she had been holding in one hand as she began toward him rapidly. In no time, and still too long, she was in front of him in all her glory.

Oh, and how glorious she was.

“Anne,” he breathed as her gloved hands cupped his face, his arms instinctually wrapping around her lithe waist, “what’re you—”

Her lips cut him off in an all-too welcome gesture, profound and wonderfully incessant as she. It felt like every single moment he had thought of her and her brilliant mouth the past few weeks was being transferred into the strength of this kiss. He stepped into her so he could pull her flush to him, one arm wounding all the way, the other climbing to position a hand on the arch of her back. Anne giggled softly against his lips, eliciting a smirk from him in return, but then he practically melted in the winter chill when he felt the brush of her tongue tease him gently. The brilliant audacity she possessed. It was a marvel.

Quite the mirthful temptress, Anne was revealing herself to be. Not that Gilbert was having any complaints. None whatsoever. So long as it was for him and him alone, he would quite happily bask in the glow of this hidden femme fatale for the rest of his sunlit days.

After the luminous moment passed, they pulled away, breaths shaking in the limited space between them. Gilbert swallowed thickly, closing his eyes in the bliss as her fingers worked their ethereal magic on his jaw and neck. Sighing, he leaned his forehead on hers.

Gilbert was glad for the fact they were so close, so that when Anne chuckled lightly, he could appreciate the world’s most beautiful sound entirely for himself. “Happy birthday, Gil. Surprise.”

“That was _quite_ the surprise.” He smiled, eyes still closed.

She snorted at that. “Please, that was not even the beginning of your present.”

A smirk blossomed on his face as he leaned closer to brush his nose against hers. “Well, colour me thrilled to bear witness to the rest of it.”

They had been apart a total of three weeks, but as he held her in his arms, he truly realised how long those three weeks had felt, and how wide the space of one-thousand-and-fifty-three miles was.

His eyes snapped open, and he pulled away a fraction to scan over her. “How are you here? I mean… it’s wonderful, easily the best birthday present I’ll receive, but… I just don’t understand…”

Anne chuckled again like it was all she could do, which Gilbert understood entirely, and brushed a hand through the curls beneath his cap. “Well, I know how Toronto hasn’t presented itself to you as homely as Avonlea, and I didn’t wish to be lonely, so I… _may_ have written to Matthew and Marilla about using the money they would have spent on my Christmas instead as a fund toward a return-fare to Toronto?”

She was unbelievable. Perfectly unbelievable.

Gilbert let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he held firm to her. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you are… quite the individual.”

“‘Quite the individual’?” She dropped her hands to his shoulders as her eyes narrowed, a quiet smile playing her lips. “That’s what you have to say in response? Your sweetheart travels interprovince, spending her entire stocking-savings and then some to ensure you have the best birthday, and you say she’s ‘quite the individual’?”

“Yes.” The grin reached his eyes, and he leaned forward to plant an evergreen kiss to her temple. “My incredibly extraordinary, devilishly intelligent, hopelessly beautiful is quite the individual. And I have never been gladder for it than this very moment.”

Gilbert sighed as they indulged in one more snow-tinted kiss, oblivious and uncaring to any glances directed at these two teenagers kissing in plain daylight. The scorn of a thousand armies could be yelling at them now, and all it would compel Gilbert to do is mould his being to Anne’s more, relishing in the sensation of being immeasurably in love.

* * *

“The world works in such a cosmically complex way, doesn’t it?” Anne’s eyes were turned out to the winter surrounding them, silvery-blue depths shining with wonderment. Gilbert had not been able to take his own attention away from them, and the faintest of smiles rested on his lips as he watched the flickering of snowflakes mirrored in her gaze. “Just thinking about it; how I am traipsing all of Toronto, looking all the worrisome as the daunting realisation that in actuality, I have _no_ idea where Sussex Avenue is located, trying ever so desperately to find it and you, when suddenly, almost in a providential manner, you find _me._ It is all rather serendipitous, wouldn’t you say?”

“Everything about you is serendipitous, Anne,” Gilbert hummed against her knuckles as he brought their joined hands to his mouth in a kiss.

Her luminescent face softened at the gesture, and she curled further into him as they walked along the street.

The faded glowing sphere of the sun could be seen behind the clouds as it dipped further into the horizon, painting the grey sky in a purple hue. In the three hours they had been together so far, the young couple had committed themselves to seeing as much of the city as possible. Well, Gilbert had committed himself to show Anne, revelling in her bright inquisitiveness and wanting to make it shine all the more. Toronto was simply Toronto to him, not ‘an iridescent spectacle of ambition’, as Anne had put it.

Nevertheless, as Anne had the tendency to influence, he could not help but love every second of their sightseeing escapade. They were so quick-footed and excitable that they discovered things even Gilbert had not known about his surrogate home. They had joined the chain of a carolling choir for a few blocks, tried to maintain indifference as the spicy heat of an immigrant family’s restaurant food, and struggled to stay still as a street painter captured their likeness.

It had truly been the most fun Gilbert had experienced in all his time in the Ontario capital. The unexpected gift of Anne’s presence, and with it the birthday presents of his far-away family, was the most wonderful thing he could have wished for. His cheeks were starting to ache, and whilst he couldn’t tell what was from the cold and what was from smiling, it was a welcome sensation.

“And this is where I pay tuition to have my mind blasted into oblivion,” he said, gesturing to the grand complex as they trudged across the snowy grass before it.

Anne gasped lightly, breath swirling out in tendrils as she breathed out, “Wow… it’s enchanting, Gil. Splendiferous in every aspect of the word. It looks like something straight out of fantasy novel, something of kings and queens. It must hold so many stories.”

“Probably nowhere near as many as what you could imagine for it.” He smiled. “Would you like to take a look inside?”

He laughed as her eyes widened and she turned to him with giddy energy. “Yes! Gosh, yes please!”

Tightening his hold on her, they changed trajectory and braced themselves against the force of the wind. “Let’s go, then.”

Gilbert had to chide Anne when she nearly slipped on the stairs in her haste up them, sparing her a knowing raised brow as he caught her elbow. She swatted him as continued the mad dash, except this time gripping to the railing with vigour.

Before he had the chance to be a gentleman, Anne was ripping the door open, laughing lightly as she held it for him. He shook his head, snorting with a roll of his eyes, as she bowed down to the hip. “Upon your entrance, my lord.”

“ _Oh_ , many thanks, most chivalrous lady,” he praised with an eccentric curtsy. Being the weekend, the university was largely vacant, but the few studious creatures who never seemed to leave were fixing the pair rather incredulous looks. Anne barely closed the door before she was gripping his arm, and silent laughter wracked their bodies.

Anne wiped a tear from under her eye, “Good God, we are of too severe a madness to be permitted outside.”

“Agreed,” Gilbert snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. A mischievous thought slid into his mind, and as he leaned to whisper into Anne’s ear, he smirked. “Maybe we can plead insanity and get ourselves locked up somewhere over Christmas.”

“You are too much, Gilbert Blythe.” Anne smiled coyly, but the crimson across her cheeks disclosed her thoughts.

“You disapprove?”

He snickered as she fixed him a look. “Now, let’s not be hasty. I never said that—”

“Mr Blythe? You have not brought your lady friend to school, surely?”

They whipped around at the sudden commanding voice, and Gilbert felt a blush of his own warm his cheeks. “Dr Oak. How are you?”

“Splendid, my boy, just splendid. In desperate need of tea, but splendid all the same,” the sturdy woman said with crinkling eyes. The eyes in question flitted toward Anne and lit up in mirth that spread in the form of a smile. “So… you must be Anne.”

Gilbert turned his gaze toward her and nearly snorted at the stars in her eyes. “You… you know who I am?”

“Of course!” Dr Oak strode toward them, thumping a hand on Gilbert’s back, and he tried not to stagger forward in the sheer force put behind the action. “This boy, brilliant-minded as he is, only appears to occupy it with very exclusive things; those being his studies, his family, and you. Not necessarily in that order,” she added with a teasing wink. “By default of his enamour with you and subsequent letter-writing in class—” Gilbert ducked his head abashedly, “—I have learned a great deal. Quite the entrepreneur, aren’t you?”

Anne’s entire face lit up like a bright red beacon. “I—oh, forgive me, but I just… wow, hearing those words from someone as inspiring and pioneering as you… I don’t know what to say.”

“Look at this, Dr Oak. You’ve rendered the girl of endless words speechless,” the dark-haired boy said with a fervent rub of Anne’s shoulders to soothe his wiry grin. “There truly isn’t a thing you cannot do.”

His professor released a hearty chuckle, and Gilbert tried to stifle his wince as fingers pinched at his side. Glancing down, feeling quite betrayed, he rolled his eyes at the sight of Anne staring ahead, completely masking her disgruntlement aimed at her beau. “I should enlighten you of my own share of Gilbert’s anecdotes. I am in _absolutely_ absorbing awe of you, Dr Oak. Everything you have accomplished in your life; for yourself and for others, taking steps many do not have the courage nor determination to. You do _everything._ Forgive me if I sound too vehement, but you are the epitome of my aspirations, second maybe only to Jane Austen, simply for her way with words.”

Dr Oak smiled with her rosy cheeks, eyes crinkling as she nodded in humble recognition. “Vehemence is a wonderful thing, Anne, and it has proven to stand in your advantage in this particular instance. Thank you for your gracious and honourably kind words, and it thrills me to know that my actions have inspired you in some manner.” Taking Anne’s hands within her own, she held them with tenacity as she quietly stressed, “Women can have it all, Anne. We are far too powerful to be caged by the norms of society. Never let anyone tell you differently.”

Gilbert felt his lip turn up in a lopsided gesture as he watched Anne gaze at the older woman, soul bared bright and shining in all its glory. In the late-afternoon hue, her red hair, catching the timid sun’s fleeting rays, looked like a woven tapestry of glowing embers. As his heart became dizzy, Gilbert really could not understand repeated displeasure at her appearance. As he gazed quietly, unnoticedly in that moment, there was really no other word that came to mind more prominently than ‘beautiful’.

And when she spoke, her beauty was only amplified to a blinding degree. “I have always wished to believe that so, and reserved time each day to remind myself of it when doubt began to cloud it all, but hearing and seeing it for myself… I _do_ believe that. I believe that as a woman of sound mind and spirit, it is my sacred duty to myself and to women to come to do as you have done and continue upholding the chain of progress.”

“Spectacularly phrased, dear girl,” Dr Oak affirmed, turning to her student with a quirked brow. “You were correct, Gilbert. Anne has quite the unique charm about her.”

In blushing response, Anne ducked her head, eyes sliding up to meet Gilbert’s with tenderness.

They were snapped back into reality by Dr Oak softly clearing her throat. As they faced her, eyes sheepish and askance, she spoke with a surreptitious timbre and said, “I hope My Blythe has been treating you to the actual sights of the city and not just the school that consumes most of his waking hours and nightmares.”

“I—Dr Oak…”

“No, no, its been wondrous,” Anne insisted, smiling fondly as Gilbert fumbled. “The past three hours have been nothing less than simply wondrous. Gilbert has introduced me to every wiry nook and cranny in Toronto, and I find myself falling in love with it all. It was upon my request that Gilbert show me the scope of his academic studies. I want to ensure that it was conducive to his studies and not just a magical place of novelistic vibrance. If I am to best Gilbert academically, it is _imperative_ that I make certain we are of equal competitive stance.”

Dr Oak lifted a brow, nodding in time as she faced her student. “Friendly fire, I see. Nothing like a little playful competition.”

Gilbert shrugged and directed a subtle smirk in Anne’s direction. “Certainly keeps things interesting, and keeps me diligent. A man can never have a moment of rest around her; must always be on my feet.”

“Just as it should be. I think I would have an aneurysm if you became placid and sedentary. Well done to you, Anne.” The redhead grinned at the older woman’s riant praise. “Well, on the topic of staying on one’s feet, it just so happens there’s a dance happening in the main hall tonight. Some gay little Irish polka or ragtime, I believe. Might interest you two to venture there.”

In full and absolute transparency, Gilbert was not the largest fan of dances. Rhythmically speaking, he was competent, but the regularity that surrounded something that should be completely uninhibited did not sit right in his soul. If he was to dance, it would not be through the marching beat of ragtime, surrounded faceless strangers – it would be with his closest chums, by the light of a bonfire and waning moon, to the sound of their strained voices joining together in perfectly imperfect harmony.

Anne was not here for much longer – he knew that to be true, no matter how much he wished it were not – and he would rather spend every spare fraction of a moment with her and her alone, where the only sounds were their whispered voices, breathless laughs, and twin beating hearts.

But as he turned to gauge her reaction, he immediately knew that any resistance was futile. Her radiance would make the sun itself sigh in envy, glowing brightly from her beaming smile to glimmering eyes. She looked at him immediately with iridescent hope and raised a hand to grip his bicep with fervid agency.

The smile formed on his lips before he could authorise it to.

* * *

Anne was all too conscious of the fact that her train for the ferry left in a couple of hours. A couple of hours was all she had left in this incredible city. A couple of hours was all she had left with this incredible boy. _Her_ incredible boy.

So, as they walked into the bustling, enigmatic hall, lights bouncing off dresses and instruments, she clutched just a little tighter to Gilbert’s arm, stepped a little slower, relished it all a little more. Anything to tether the moment and make it last as a small forever.

“Are you excited?” Gilbert’s voice spoke softly into her ear, reaching her with a volume the swooning cacophony around them could not match.

“Excited at the cosmic serendipity that is me finally getting the chance to dance with you in a moment without intrusion of opposing forces? Mm, well now, I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps.”

Through their linked arms Gilbert elbowed her and snorted, “Dear God, Anne; I was trying to be charming and gentlemanly.”

“‘Trying’ being the operative word. Oh, Gil! Gil, I’m simply jesting!” she laughed when his face soured as they stepped further into the living room, subconsciously moving toward the lengthy trestle table. The frown dissolved in an instant upon her lips meeting his cheek. “You are splendidly charming as is. And in all honesty, I am nothing short of thrilled to be here with you.”

The smallest but most fond smile crested his lips at that. “I’m glad. You know, before you made your wonderful entrance, I had been planning to go dancing and bar-hopping with some of the gents from U of T tonight.”

“Really?” They stopped at the edge of the table, and Anne felt askance. “I didn’t take you away from that bout of fun, did I?”

Gilbert smiled calmly. “Hardly. They’re fine enough, but this? Being here with you? Better than anything else this city has to offer.”

At that, her heart leapt for joy, and she butted her shoulder to his abashedly. They eased into idle conversation, with Anne making animated comments on their lively environment as Gilbert poured them glasses of cider.

“Everyone looks so elegant! So immaculately refined and royal! Oh Gil, if only you had let on just how classy everyone in Toronto is – I surely would have dressed better than a meagre skirt and jacket.”

He let out a small sharp exhale, looking at her with fond exasperation as he handed her a glass. “You look beyond lovely, Anne, and you know it. Lovelier than any girl here tonight.”

Following a sip of her cider, she laughed. “Slander! Absolute slanderous knavery! Mm, this is scrumptious, by the way.” 

“I can assure you I am speaking nothing but the truth. At least from my own perspective. It is of your own volition whether or not you believe me.”

She looked at him a moment, eyes narrowing in consideration as she tapped her chin. “Hm… because you are _so_ charming and gentlemanly, I shall give you the benefit of the doubt.”

They shared in a brief, light-filled bout of laughter, giddy from the contagious energy around them and each other. Gilbert grinned, tucking his free hand beneath his other arm, sipping away at his drink as he surveyed the room with magnetic interest. Anne watched him a moment before gazing out herself.

The dancing couples moved around in a large circle, galloping hand in hand and dipping in and out of each other, smiling and laughing and chatting all the way. The band was playing a rather lively jig – the fiddler was moving with blurry speed, the flutist bobbing their head to the beat the drummer provided. Anne noted with reminiscent fondness that whilst the banjo player was incredibly talented, he lacked the same gusto Moody put into his performances.

Glancing back to her sweetheart, she smiled as she saw him tapping along to the beat. An odd sense of nerves sent her heart into a frenzy. “Have you had a good birthday?”

He looked around with raised brows, mild surprise on his face quickly morphing into enamoured glee. “Anne… surely you must know this is one of the best birthdays I have ever had?”

She exhaled sharply, looking down as a grin transformed her beet-red face. “Well… I certainly hoped but… I didn’t wish to assume…”

He bit his lip a she trailed off, and he placed a hand under her chin, lifting it gently so her eyes met his. Lord… did he know the power he held over her when she looked into his dark hazel depths? Did he know how wondrously beautiful and deep and mesmerising they were?

Surely he did, because she became all but putty as he said in a measurably soft voice, “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, permit me to tell you that you are the most incredible woman alive, and I am completely humbled at how unbelievably unforgettable and wonderful you made today. In my eyes, you are a gift from God himself – some inscrutable star-crossed reality I could never have imagined in my wildest fantasies. You are so caring, and thoughtful, and gumptious, and selfless and I am in awe of all you’ve done just to ensure I had not only a ‘good’ birthday, but the most magical one you could have dreamt.”

_‘I… am so gone for him. So, so gone.’_

Her head and heart felt phenomenally fuzzy, and she blinked away the stars she saw gathering in the corners of her eyes as she smiled wistfully. “Wow,” she breathed in the limited space between them, “Gilbert, I… since when have you been so romantical?”

He shrugged as though he hadn’t just sent her to astronomical heights. “Maybe I have always been a man of romance… You just took a while to notice.”

She laughed airily, feeling her body sway with the music as it lifted to the sky. “Maybe I did…” she trailed off, glancing down as old feelings of guilt resurfaced. They really had been doing this dance all too long, hadn’t they? Spinning into each other in stolen glances and missed opportunities, twirling away with the fear of rejection and societal expectations. What would have happened had they figured their feelings out sooner? Would people have been spared broken hearts? Would they have been spared of anguish? Would they have reached this point of unmatched familiarity sooner?

But then… would they be the people they are today? If they had not gone through that intricate dance, would they even be in this place of shared interest and motivation to be the force they were now?

Perhaps the skittish dance had been necessary to reach this point. This point in which they no longer needed to dance around each other, but where it was actually in the best of their collective interest to dance together.

So, Anne looked up at him with a bold and brilliant smiling, leaned back into a bow as she presented her hand and asked, “May I have this dance, oh mysterious man of enigmatic romance?”

He chuckled, taking her hand and laughing even more as she kissed his knuckles. “Well, it’s about time, most beguiling Princess Cordelia.”

They laughed their way onto the dancefloor, falling into something akin to rhythm as they gripped at each other’s hands and waists. The tempo was _fast_ – almost too fast as they struggled to recognise the steps and patterns as other couples danced around with practiced ease. Toes were trodden on, heads met in collision, and they laughed until their stomachs ached and then some.

“Anne, that’s the fourth time!” Gilbert wheezed out as the smile made his eyes glimmer, hobbling slightly from having just had a heel jammed into his foot.

“I am _sorry,_ okay?! This is _nothing_ like the Dashing White Sergeant! I haven’t the faintest slither of clue of what I’m doing! Oh, heavens, no!” she cried as the tempo hastened even more so. Gilbert laughed all the harder at the plight.

They gripped tighter to each other as they sped around the room, bodies pressed flushed in the momentum, and squeals mixed in with the giddy laughter. Despite the freezing temperature outside, the hall was entirely packed to the brim with swarming bodies, and Anne felt her breathing become laboured as a light sheen of sweat worked its way onto her body. Glancing at Gilbert through the motion blur surrounding them, she saw the same appeared for him. She watched as he breathed heavily through his smiling mouth, eyes narrowed in focus, sweat dampening his forehead and curls.

She compartmentalised the way it caused something in her stomach to squirm excitedly. That would be something to examine at a later date.

An unexpected spin happened upon her and Anne squealed as Gilbert pulled her back into his arms, and they continued their gallop forward. The music around them swelled, voices shouted in time with the beat and they spun again. This time, however, Anne was ready, and she made certain to swivel her head back to Gilbert as the rest of her completed the movement.

Bystanders to the dance started clapping to the magically produced jig of the band, and they spun once more. Anne came back around to Gilbert with a breathless grin on her face. She felt her heart beat in succession with the music, slamming against her ribcage with barely contained joy. It thrilled it even more to see her partner with equal enthusiasm glowing on his face. She wondered if his heart was as restless as her own.

Suddenly, the music reached a fever pitch, and the spins transfigured into one unending loop. Anne kept her eyes on Gilbert as much as her body would allow it. His never once left her, she knew it to be unfathomably true. The band, the clapping, the voices, everything reached a strained yet melodic crescendo before it cut off, and Anne was pulled firmly back into Gilbert one last time.

A cheer erupted from the crowd, everyone hollering and applauding as the band gave a bow. Anne was still caught in Gilbert gaze and grasp, eyes staring up at him as her chest heaved. He looked down at her with equal rapture, eyes flicking between hers as his haggard breathing swept across her cheeks.

Then, simultaneous grins burst on their faces, overriding their features with incomparable ecstasy, and Anne grabbed his neck with both hands, pulling him down to crash her lips into his.

Still giddy from the exertive dance, they laughed into the kiss. Gilbert wrapped his arms tight around her waist and hoisted her into the air, eliciting a jubilant laugh from Anne. Her arms wound around his neck, knees popping as he spun them around once more because if there was a night for it, then it was tonight.

 _‘I have ascended.’_ Anne thought as she angled her chin down to kiss him just that bit deeper. _‘I have ascended and reached heaven, because absolutely nothing God could offer would ever be better than this paradise.’_

A few whoops sounded around them as they came back to Earth. They reflected each other’s blushes with fondness, giggling with their heads close together.

Anne skated her eyes over him and grinned even wider. “Your hair… I cannot believe it could become anymore unruly than it was. Yet after that exercise, it looks like you’ve been at sea for several weeks on some grand, tumultuous voyage. Perhaps through the Bermuda Triangle, or to the centre of the Earth, like in that novel.”

“Should I start oiling it down?”

Her eyes widened and she looked at him with a defying severity, shaking her head rigorously. “Please no. I would rather have my hair green again than you do that.” He chuckled, leaning forward as he began to catch his breath. She lifted a hand to comb her fingers back through it, revelling in how he melted under her touch without fail. “I adore your curls more than just about anything.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, you cheek-filled child, it is.”

His eyes shone as he looked at her, features softening as he lifted delicate fingers to brush back curls fallen haphazardly across Anne’s face. “I quite adore your curls, too. Though, I feel I must say something.”

“What is it?”

He leaned in close and Anne’s breath caught in her throat like a trap as she felt his own warm one against her ear. “I _much_ rather the braids.” Then, so softly she wondered whether or not it had even occurred, her lips touched the corner of her hairline.

He pulled back, looking entirely too smug for Anne’s liking. So he _was_ aware of the effect he had on her. Hm.

Well, Anne was not one to be bested, especially by roguish boys with splendid chins.

So, she stood on her toes and whispered against his own ear, “Come Christmas holiday, I may find myself back in such braids. I find them _much_ more comfortable to wear to bed than curling rags.”

She pulled back and giggled at the sight of Gilbert’s completely crimson face, eyes wide and frozen on her. Turning to the side, she laughed even harder. “Gil, oh my goodness, even your blessed _ears_ are red!”

Gilbert looked at her with the most indescribable combination of disbelief, enrapture, curiosity and want ever to be seen. He lifted a hand from her waist to rub his eyes. “Anne… you can’t just say…”

“Say what?” she teased, grinning at his expense.

Peeking out between his fingers, he slowly smirked, sighing, “You wild thing… Why do you have to leave soon?”

And there it was… the bitter reality of their situation. One-thousand-and-fifty-three cursed miles. She loathed those miles with the most fiery passion.

Taking a deep breath, she peeled the hand off his face and held it in her own. “I wish I didn’t… but just remember – one more week and then we get an entire fortnight. Not just half a day.”

A half-grin formed on his face at that, lopsided and wonderfully endearing. “I hope the Cuthberts aren’t expecting too much of that time. I intend to make the most of those two weeks.”

“And make the most of it we shall,” Anne agreed, flinging her arms over his shoulders and smiling back at him. “Let these words ring true throughout the universe that for those two weeks, I do intend to make myself entirely yours.”

Gilbert smiled blindingly and was leaning in to meet her once more when she suddenly exclaimed, “And Dellie, of course. I am in dire, desperate need of some time with my favourite little angel.”

“Oh, you are going to have to fight for quality Dellie time, I’m sorry. Uncle Gilly needs his, too.”

They continued to banter over their respective needs and requirements of familial presence, grinning and laughing at each other throughout.

Christmas together, Anne mused as Gilbert poured over the details of riding his beloved, trusty mare. It had become something of a tradition between the Blythe-Lacroix and Shirley-Cuthbert families, and Anne relished in every single occurrence. But this approaching one held with it the promise of a new treasure, a new undeniably profound aspect, and she found she could not wait to explore every depth of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Viscaria: the flower of Dancing_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was messy, but hopefully cute?????? mayhaps????? 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed!! i was listening to the tangled soundtrack of all things writing the dance scene (ye idk either mate). shirtbert goodness... its so easy to write them bein happy.... i legit smashed out the second half of the chapter in one day... theyre just so darn cUTE
> 
> STREAM LOVE VICTOR. ITS WHOLESOME AF. VICTOR IS BABY PRECIOUS CHILD AND I WANNA MARRY THE HELL OUT OF MIA. AND CHECK OUT MY FIC 'Love, My Truest Self' WHEN YA DONE  
> anyways, comments make my day!! as do kudos!!  
> OKAY BYEEEE <3
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: deck the halls with hella mistletoe, FALALALALALALALAL. tis the season to make the ship go FLALALALALLALALALAL. don we now our fam shenanigans, FALALA LALALA LALA LAAAA. toll the ancient christmas drama trope FALALALALALLALALALAAALAAAAAAA  
> (its 1:30am im kinda delirious idk where my head is)


	13. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas time descends upon Avonlea, and Christmas is nothing if not the season for family and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoelee fackn shit, its been a while.  
> im so so sorry for not updating in so long guys--life has been.... insane, to say the least. ill explain more in the end notes.  
> anyone, i hope this chapter of fluff and fluffy fluff makes up for my absence. we're getting close to the conclusion-woohoo!

“Gil, no!”

Anne laughed as she struggled and writhed against strong arms corralling her toward the water’s edge, digging her bare heels into the damp sand in protest. The warm chuckle reverberated against her back, and a tantalising shiver ran down her spine as equally warm breath caressed her ear.

“Come on now, Carrots. Not afraid of a little water, are we?”

“Gilbert, I beg you, _please.”_ She curled in on herself as his fingers danced at her sensitive sides. A squeal erupted from her throat as the waves kissed her toes. “Please, oh my goodness, it’s so cold. So, so cold, Gilbert.”

“It’s the middle of summer, Anne. Hardly able to accuse the weather of being too cold now.”

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he brought them ever closer to the teasing water. The crispness of the salty shore felt out of place and threw everything else around her into startling contrast—the warm sea breeze, the glaring summer sun above, the encompassing presence of Gilbert’s body wrapped around her own, a presence so miraculous it made her feel secure and liberated, calm and electric in simultaneity.

Right now, that was all amplified tenfold as the hem of her dress fell victim to the approaching water as it lapped around her ankles. She screamed again, cheeks aching from the grin that threatened to split her face clean down the middle. She writhed tryingly in his arms, grunting as he tightened his hold on her. “Gilbert, you absolute heathen! I am going to kill you.”

He simply laughed in response.

“Gilbert John Blythe, I mean it!” she squealed as the shaky water pushed at her and she gripped to his arms for a feeble attempt at balance. The water was encroaching on her knees now. She sent him a glare over her shoulder. “You know I can’t swim.”

An unruly squawk erupted from her throat as an arm hooked beneath her wet knees. Without so much more as a word of warning, the world tilted on its axis and she found herself suspended above the water, arms instinctually wrapping around any sort of tether. Which just so happened to be Gilbert’s neck.

Her eyes, all wide and surprised, flashed up to meet his lovely hazel orbs, framed by a lovelier colour of rouge upon his cheeks. It made her stop fresh in her scrambling.

“Shall I then save Her Royal Highness Queen Cordelia from drowning?” he asked, voice growing softer and deeper with every word. His eyes flickered down from her own, and her lips parted as she felt their welcome weight on them. “Anne…”

A chill that came not from her still cold and wet feet skirted its way up her spine, and she swallowed thickly, eyes hooding as she leaned in, her heart, soul, and very being wrapped around his own. “Gil.”

“Anne… _Anne…”_

“Anne! Come now, surely you aren’t this heavy a snoozer at college! Mercy, I hope not!”

Anne jolted awake, bolting upright and immediately wincing as sunlight streamed in on her bleary dust-encrusted eyes. A chill nibbled at her bare toes and she quickly drew her legs in, stopping once they were submerged in entirety beneath the covers. As she slowly blinked away the sluggish remnants of sleep, she stared out to the source of the blinding light—the winter sun, shining brightly and allowing the endless snow to share in its beauty. The bare branches of a tree gently swayed to whistling wind and birdsong. Her dear Snow Queen.

Her waking mind began to propel itself into work as the busied voice beside kept muttering away. Voice hoarse and still full of sleep, she croaked, “Marilla? What…”

“Oh, don’t you go giving me that now.” The greying woman was fussing with a dress. Anne blinked. It was her green one—her _old_ green one—yet with the hem released down to the floor, brushing Marilla’s boots as she fought against letting it brush the floor. “You specifically asked me, four times, mind you, to make sure you were up on time today. The frivolity of it… well, I can’t say I’m not displeased to see you are still as passionate as ever. But goodness, Anne, four times?”

Anne’s brows furrowed as her sight followed Marilla; tired, confused, yet fond as her adoptive mother tutted away as always.

“And you could not even set your alarm on the clock—did you even bring it home with you? _Tsk,_ what are we going to do with you… Well, it is now half-past-seven, you silly girl. Gilbert’s train arrives in thirty minutes, so you will just have to meet him—”

Pieces she hadn’t even been searching for slammed together and her eyes flew wide open. She threw the covers off and stumbled toward her vanity. “Oh my God!”

“Anne!”

She winced, swivelling to throw a taut grimace of a smile at Marilla, who stood with her arms crossed. “Sorry, I just—I cannot believe I overslept!” Turning back, she dragged fingers beneath the dark bags of her eyes that had not been so prominent the day prior. Sleep had not come easy for her excited mind last night. Her hair, previously plaited to comfortable perfection, was now in utter disarray, strands sticking up haphazardly and amess. “Oh no, no, no, no, no. No, I am the biggest fool! Why didn’t I… And now I don’t have time to… Gilbert’s going to take _one_ look… Oh, Anne, you’ve truly outdone yourself as a mistress of misfortune this time.”

Marilla’s tall figure approached steadily as Anne continued to grumble, painfully ripped out the bows of her hair while simultaneously reaching for her comb.

“Now Anne,” she said in the cadence she always adopted when Anne was about to get an affectionate dressing-down, “there will be plenty time to speak with Gilbert. You won’t make it to the station, you unlucky thing, but you can certainly greet him at his residence. Won’t that be a lovely surprise for him? You, and Sebastian, and little Delphine, and Hazel and Elijah. Perhaps if I can drag Matthew from his pipe for more than five minutes, we might accompany you too.”

“No, because I explicitly specified to Bash yesterday that I wished to be the one—the sole one—to meet Gilbert at the station upon his arrival, and for me to be the one to escort him back to his home. And Bash agreed — he said it was a most romantic gesture befitting the things of queens and squires in fiction, and that I would rightly sweep Gilbert off his _feet_ ,” she said, stressing the last word as the comb met a clump of egregious knots.

Marilla quirked a brow. “Those were his words, hm?”

“Perhaps not in precision, but in sentiment.” She grunted as she broke through the clump. “He did mention wanting to see ‘Lady Gilbert’ strolling onto the property by the arm of his handsome red-haired escort.”

“I see. Well, in any case, you hardly enough time to prepare yourself and Belle to be there on time. I’m sure Gilbert will be just fine walking home. It’s hardly snowing today.”

Anne huffed at her reflection. Colour and life was starting to return as her heart pounded like a small drum within her chest. Her hair hung in waves courtesy of the braids, and whilst the wind would surely muss it into oblivion, it would have to do. In the mirror, she eyed the dress still held in Marilla’s arms.

Turning to face her, she said very matter-of-factly, “I’m going to take that.”

She hardly waited for Marilla to splutter indignantly before sliding the dress from her arms, rapidly squeezing it on atop her nightgown. “Anne! You are… You look a right mess!”

“I’ve combed my hair, at the very least!” Anne continued through the motions of tightening the lacing of the dress as she scurried own the stairs.

“Do not leave this house!”

“Mind if I take two of these scones down here?” She didn’t wait for a response, pinching two of the warm baked goods and placing them within the pockets of her dress. “They smell simply scrumptious!”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I demand you come back this instance!”

“Thank you for the adjustments! It fits splendidly.”

Anne ripped her coat from its hook and promptly burst through the door, immediately tucking in on herself from the chill hanging in the air around her. From his seat on the patio, Matthew glanced up at her as she reached for her boots. She spared him a small sheepish grin, jumping and hobbling about as she squeezed the boots over her frozen feet.

His returning smile was small, amused, and full of a sparkling, undying youth as he winked. “Say hello to Gilbert for me.”

Anne grinned, wide and bright, and quickly pressed her lips to his forehead before giggling and running out into the snow.

* * *

The wind nipped at Anne’s cheeks and tousled her loose red waves. Every inch of her body was trembling as the blanket of white whistled around her, though she felt so incomprehensibly warm; a warmth that flooded out from her hummingbird heart and to the tips of her numb fingers. The sun shone as a pale orb in the cloudless sky, painting everything in a shimmering pastel palette of blue.

Beneath Anne’s elevated body, Belle thundered into the heavy sand, strong legs pulling through the thick of it. Months of being unridden had left her frisk, wild, an uncontainable energy emanating from her fiery coat. Anne laughed, pressing her heels into the headstrong mare, squealing as the pony tossed her head and surged along the snowy road into a gallop.

“Yes, go Belle! Go!”

Wind bucketed against her face as they raced past the Lyndes’, the Blythes’, the school and church, ever closer toward Bright River station. With every gait of her strong steed, her body quivered evermore so. He would be here soon. He would be here and they would have two blessed weeks together, undisturbed by the musings of classmates, the tremulousness of assessment. Most especially without the unworrying eyes of invasive matrons. Two young adults surrounded by the comfort of their beginnings and homes, their revolutionary spirits rejoicing in everything that was to come. Christmas, the New Year… a whole new century. A new era. And they would begin it together.

What was normally an hour-long ride to the station was cut nearly in half by Anne’s frantic pacing, the thought of hazel eyes and a crinkled smile being on par with the strength of a dozen cups of coffee, on being struck to the heart by a bolt of lightning. She almost felt sorry for how she pushed her companion, but the chestnut mare seemed just as intent on running as she did. So Anne gripped the reins, leaned forward in the saddle, and whooped as they hooned forward into the winter landscape.

Soon, and yet hardly soon enough, the old roof of the station waved over the thicket of bare trees. Belle had scarcely reached a halt before Anne was leaping from her back, urging her into a trot on foot as she moved toward the hitching post. A quick and secure wrapping of the reins, adjusting the long fleece rug on her back into a place of optimum protection, and then Anne was racing up the short stairs of the station. As she careered around the corner, the stationmaster, tucked into his booth, glanced up in surprise.

“I never expected none to be out in this bitter weather, but I guess I never accounted for you.”

Anne grinned, panting as she glanced toward the clock. “Good day to you, Edmund. The eight-a.m. train, from Summerside, I believe?”

He shook his head and the air instantaneously grew thick around Anne. “Well and truly missed that, I’m afraid. Been and gone about fifteen minutes ago. It got here early, due to there only being the one—”

“Anne?”

Eyes shooting up, she looked to where the unmistakable voice had just come from, rounding from the corner behind the booth, and immediately smiled so enormously, she felt it shine like a lighthouse to every corner of her being. “Oh my gosh, Gil—you’re here!”

With a smile reflecting that of her own, Gilbert’s bags had only just thudded to the ground as Anne flung herself on him, sending him staggering back on the platform as he struggled to retain their balance. They both realised too late with unintelligible and undignified squawks that Gilbert had reached the end of the platform and still not reached equilibrium. Anne tightened her arms around his neck, screaming into the side of it as they went off the edge, falling straight into a pile of snow and incredibly dead leaves with a resounding _splat._

Horror-struck, Anne’s hands immediately flew to his face as she peeled away from him, skirting anxious eyes over his features. “Gil, are you okay? Oh, I’m so sorry, that was so foolish and reckless and impulsive of me. Is your head alright? Are you—”

She cut off, blinking widely, as the body beneath her began to shake. For one terrifying moment, she worried he was crying, and her fingers began carding through his hair measuredly.

“Gilbert, I’m so sorry—”

It was then that his head fell back and he openly laughed, eyes screwed shut as his rosy cheeks appled and the mesmerising sound flew into the air. The dark curls not covered by his cap collected flecks of the white, and as he slowly peeled himself back up to look at her, Anne had the most bizarre passing thought that he resembled a sugar-dusted pastry.

“Only you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. You impossible thing.”

Fears ebbing away, she pushed past the humour in her heart and fixed him a reproachful look, cuffing him on the shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought you were truly injured and it was by my own hand.”

He quietly smirked. “Technically, that did just happen.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t try discredit my words.”

“You’re correct. I am so glad to hear we have progressed beyond you hitting me with a slate to slamming me with Herculean strength into the very ground itself.”

“I might just _keep_ you to the ground if you continue with these uncharitable accusations you are insinuating,” she said, returning the smirk ten-fold as she leaned her weight further on him.

Something changed in Gilbert’s expression as he glanced down, and the pink from the cold exploded into a righteous red. In that moment, Anne realised their… compromising position. Two young people, lying down in the snow, atop one another and edging ever closer. Also, like a spark of flintstone on her mind, she recalled just then, right as she was pressed flushed Gilbert’s chest, that in her haste from that house that morning, she had entirely neglected the notion of a _corset._

She scrambled off him, nearly falling back down into the snow as she hurried to dust it from her figure. Gilbert remained buried in the snow, face so red she was certain it was within his capacity to simply melt it all away.

Coughing away the stilted air, Anne heaved a deep breath and extended her hand in a flourishing gesture toward her still-startled beau. “Alright, come on. As romantical as falling into cushions of snow truly is, I do believe you’ll catch your death of cold if you sink further into its embrace. And in perfect transparency, I do prefer my suitors unfrozen.”

After a clear moment of deliberation, Gilbert glanced up at her from underneath the shadow of his cap and curls, quirked a small smile, and shook his head as he reached to take her hand. He locked on as their gloves slipped through each other’s grips, and with a shared grunt, Gilbert was hauled to his feet.

“Suitors?” he prompted with a lift of his brow, teeth chattering ever so slightly as he patted himself free of snow. “Plural?”

Though it felt like the perfect atmosphere to crack back with witty banter, Anne couldn’t help drawing back to the image of a gentleman in a lavender coat with dark-green orbs sparkling. She sighed gently and felt her features soften in turn.

Feet crunching in the snow, she stepped forward so Gilbert paused in his ministrations, looking at her as she took his face within her mittened hands. With the slightest of pressure, she coaxed his head forehead as she stood on her toes, and with the greatest of consideration, kissed him between his brows. She maintained the pressure, soft but incessant, for a few seconds as she felt Gilbert’s exhale against her jaw. As she pulled away, hands still held to his face, she watched in awe as his eyes slowly fluttered open, fixing on hers with questioning wonder.

“There could infinite suitors in the world,” she whispered into the space between them, “but there’s only one Gilbert Blythe with a most brilliantly sharp and open mind, a most mesmerizingly expressive face, and heart of iridescent gold. And he is more than I could ever ask for.”

It had been incredible to watch the overwhelming fondness blossom on his face as she spoke her words into existence. To watch their sincerity secure in his heart. But then, to feel, soul enraptured, as he leant forward, foreheads pressing to one another’s, so, so close that their lashes fluttered together… that was beyond description. Anne felt her soul melt in the moment.

And they were perfectly happy to stay in that moment—would have been happy to stay there for small eternity—but winter would not allow for romance to fully bloom in her harsh snap. Soon, Anne felt herself shivering, felt Gilbert shivering before her, and they pulled away in synchronisation, giggling with quivering nerves.

Gilbert reached up, took one of her hands in his own and squeezed it. “Let’s walk back into the station, avoid all eye contact with the stationmaster, and allow me a brief second to collect my bags before we escape, hm?”

Anne snorted, nodding rapidly. “Perfectly wise plan. Especially the escape aspect of it all.”

So they raced back in, hand and hand, past the bemused old stationmaster as Gilbert couldn’t resist mumbling out a few quiet excuses and apologies for their ‘display of impropriety’ and ‘good day to you, sir’—all the while shooting daggers at Anne as she barely concealed her silent sobs of laughter. Only once they were out did she finally release it, letting it carry in snorts and chortles into the gentle breeze above them, practically keeling over herself as she stumbled up to Belle. Her laughter only started to subside when Gilbert snorted, gently butting her with his elbow.

“I… I can’t breathe.” She sighed, wiping stray tears from her eyes as Gilbert shook his head at her. “That was better than any of Matthew’s pantomime performances.”

“Wonderful to hear you were so enthralled by my suffering.”

She smirked across at him over Belle’s back as she began to peel back to rug, folding it up neatly to then shove aggressively into the saddle bag. She felt Gilbert’s amused gaze on her as she grunted, pushing her full body into it, and proceeded to stick her tongue out at him.

“Wow, you won’t even spare me a verbal retort now.” He chuckled then as she growled in her throat. “Want some assistance?”

“I am _quite_ capable, I assure you. Thank you most kindly.”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “I suppose I’ll strike up conversation with Belle while we wait, then. Ask her of the plights of motherhood.”

Anne made an overt show of rolling her eyes, but soon softened as she watched Gilbert, hazel eyes sparkling, as he began murmuring to the chestnut mare. The strokes of his hand were gentle down her long face, and Belle’s head lowered with a gentle groan as he began massaging along the crest of her neck.

Summer sprang within her heart as the corner of her mouth lifted. _‘I love him. I am_ in _love with him. He is everything and more.’_

* * *

One exceedingly awkward trail later—where they had gone from a poor attempt at double-dinky, to Belle pigrooting Gilbert off in protest of the extra weight, to the two teenagers laughingly biting the bullet and assigning Belle the luggage whilst they walk on foot, side-by-side—and they had arrived at the Blythe-Lacroix residence. Bash had been waiting on the front porch with a little Delphine bouncing on his hip, swaddled and swimming in coats.

Anne watched as a white grin threatened to split Gilbert’s face clean in two as he laid eyes on his family, laughing as he sprinted forward. Bash had grinned brightly in return, cooing to his baby daughter as she watched Gilbert’s fast approach with big brown eyes. Then, Anne had gasped, cupping hands around her mouth as her heart positively _disintegrated_ when the nearly one-year-old bubbled into laughter, a set of four little teeth amid a very gummy smile. Gilbert enclosed his embrace around both brother and niece. Anne took her time in tying up Belle, perfectly content to simply sit back and observe as Hazel and Elijah came out and joined in.

Anne had all but wanted to leave the unique family to their reunion, but Hazel had fixed her that ‘no-nonsense’ look that instructed she was to stay for at least one sampling of whatever exotic dish had been concocted for breakfast. A filling serving of _aloo chokha_ later, and Anne was bidding the new family farewell as she mounted Belle once more, smiling as Gilbert blew her a kiss on the wind.

Just as she had been about to exist from the gate, she spun Belle on her seat, calling out to where Gilbert was just retreating back into the warmth, “I just remembered! Don’t forget that the festivities of the Eve are at Green Gables tonight. Five o’clock sharp. Do be punctual.”

Gilbert smiled as she winked on the final word. “I thought the Barrys’ were hosting!”

“No, no—they are tasked with New Years’; unsurprising given the grandiose imminency of the twentieth century. A grandiose turn of the century deserves an equally grandiose venue, wouldn’t you think?”

“Ah, I see. Well then,” Gilbert tipped an invisible hat from his head, mirth glimmering across his snow-lit features, “until we meet again, fair dryad.”

“May the time be short and parting without sorrow!” Anne announced to the wind, mimicking a curtsey as best she could on a saddle.

They shared a laugh at their antics before straightening and sobering into a quiet tranquillity. No other words, no other movements, just steadfast smiles that shone directly into each other’s hearts. After a moment, Anne clicked to Belle, spared one last look at the figure by the farmhouse, and rode off down the country path.

* * *

“Tree erect?”

“It has been since the beginning of December.”

“Alright. Turkey in the oven?”

“Along with all of Matthew’s vegetables, yes.”

“All the ornaments organised on the tree?”

“As well as candles lit.”

“Then… plum puffs!”

“They were already baking on my way out this morning.”

“Alright, alright… Oh! I forgot to press Matthew’s jacket. I could have sworn I were to leave it out by my door…”

“You did, but I removed it to press it myself, as well as my own lovely emerald skirt coat and skirt.” Anne chuckled softly, walking toward an especially frazzled Marilla to placate her with a gentle hand. “Marilla, everything is organised and prepared to a paramount level of hospitality. And besides, it is simply Gilbert, Bash, and the rest of the Lacroix family coming tonight. You know as well as I that they don’t wish for anything more than welcome company.”

That trademark sternness was in her eyes once more as her brows knitted. “There is nothing ‘simply’ about Gilbert anymore, Anne. He is your _suitor_ —there are certain expectations to be met in providing for a suitor and his family, no matter the previous history between the existing families. We must place our best foot forward as hostesses, in particular you, if you are to show your skill as a future wife and mother—”

“ _Okay, wow, thank you, Marilla_.” Anne quirked a quiet smile. “You sound an awful lot like Mrs Lynde.”

“Now, don’t go speaking profanity, Anne.”

Anne snorted as Matthew quirked his head around the corner, pulling at the lapels of his jacket as he buttoned up. She watched as Marilla sent him a scathing look but didn’t speak, opting instead for a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh.

Marilla moved to adjust the wreath upon the door, shaking her head slightly. “I informed Rachel of our plans to invite them over. What a mistake indeed. I love her, I really do and do not ever mistake that, but _that woman can talk_. She can rant. I hardly got two words in as she gave me a detailing of the proceedings to occur tonight. Very much regulated, but of course, it being her.”

Anne hissed a soft laugh, biting her lip as she played at her rolled hair.

Around the still-to-be-set dining table, Matthew hummed. “I’m goin’ out to collect some more firewood from the barn. Make sure it has enough time to dry before we need to restoke the fire.”

Marilla nodded. “Alright, you do that. I shall do one last sweep of the house to make certain our affairs are in order. Alright…” she murmured, hands splayed on her hips as she slowly turned around, “Tree, decorations, presents all but for the Barrys’, table still needs arrangement, mulled cider, tea, grape wine, eggnog for Sebastian, Turkey, potatoes, carrot and cabbage in oven, plum puffs… Oh, fiddlesticks! No!”

Anne watched on as the matriarch began to pace. “Marilla?”

“Oh, the pudding! I completely forgot the pudding. I specially made custard for it, too.” She rubbed at her temples. “I am certain we don’t have enough plum puffs to satisfy all for dessert, as well.”

“Maybe Hazel is preparing some form of sweet satiation?” Anne supplied with upward lilt.

Marilla immediately shook her head. “No… No, I asked of her to bring along some of her traditional food that she would have in the Caribbean. She had already warned me of some spicy meal… And even if I were to start now, I would hardly have time before people started arriving. Oh, heavens, this is disastrous!”

Anne sprung toward her. “It’s hardly inconsequential, Marilla, I assure you! I am nearly all but ready, just need fifteen or so minutes to arrange my hair and dress and I will be. I can make the pudding, no strife.”

“I don’t even know if I bought all the correct ingredients…”

“Marilla,” Anne said, adopting that tone that her motherly figure had used on her all too often. “I will be certain that I can figure out something if it comes to that. No more liniment!” she assured at the quizzical narrowed eyes. “I will be most careful in baking up to the standards of yours and Mary’s. On the whimsy of my dearest Snow Queen I do so swear.”

It was at least a minute of solid consideration on Marilla’s part before she finally sighed, straightening up to her height and suddenly, she was in control once more. “I want you to be absolutely ready before you begin, understood? Your apron is to be cinched and tight. If I see so much as a speck of flour or spot of batter on your person, there will be consequences.”

Anne smiled, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss upon Marilla’s cheek before spinning on her heel to run back up the stairs. “I shall be back down expeditiously!”

“You know, you have somehow become even more in tuned with your affections since being away. I don’t know how; didn’t know it was possible.”

* * *

It is without saying that Anne appreciated what a corset offered to her physicality; she looked matured, refined, a true woman with notable curves that usually fell flat on her slim figure. The bodice offered her a certain significance, an air of regality that she had yearned for in her childhood adventures. Corsets did wonders for a woman’s appearance, yes; but by _God_ were they an absolute inconvenience.

As she sat before her vanity, comb in hand as she gave up all pretence of assembling into anything more extravagant than a simple chignon, she shifted in her seat. The edges of the corset kept pressing in against her ribs, the soft parts of skin, under her arm. She despised it, truly.

She went about trying to slot pins in to keep the flimsy mass of hair from slipping. More curls were pulled loose to frame her face than Marilla would deem necessary, but Anne felt it suited.

It was quite the effort to see it through, however, and she soon found herself glaring at her own reflection. “God forsake it, I can’t—I hate this. How on earth did Ruby do this? It’s impossible.” She sighed sharply, hands dropping to her sides as she deadpanned herself. “Witchcraft must be the solution. Summoning some unearthly spirit with mystical hands that can bend space and time itself. That is the only plausible explanation.”

A snort from outside her room. “What are you summoning spirits for now?”

Turning in her chair, she leaned toward the door and beamed in surprise. “Gilbert. Hello.” A pause. She placed the comb down. “What are you doing up here?”

Torso poking around the corner, he gestured vaguely inside. “May I…?”

“Oh! Of course, yes, please, come in.” She winced as she remembered her haphazardly discarded day dress lying on the floor. “Um… please just, ignore… everything.”

She watched as he walked in, and oh. Oh, he was simply beyond divine. He wore a grey sweater beneath a black jacket in which his hands were shoved in. Hat removed from his head, she was able to look upon as dusted specks of white slowly faded into his wild curls.

A small smile graced his fair skin as he gazed around the room. “I’m glad to see there’s scarcely been a change in here. It’s all so very… in character.”

Anne lighted snorted in response, lacing an arm behind the back of the chair as her eyes trailed his figure. “And when might you reveal were you last in my room, Mr Blythe? I don’t recall there being a time I invited you in here.”

“When I left you that note.” His brow quirked. “You know. The one you coincidentally ripped apart?”

“One of my shortcomings, I wilfully admit.” She watched, a veil of serenity billowing over her as she watched him trace his finger along the window casing, late afternoon sunlight painting him golden. “What brings you by in this instance, though? I thought you were still not due for another hour or so?”

His shoulders bunched as he turned to her. “I hope you don’t mind. As much as I love being home with Bash, Delphie, Hazel and even Elijah, as still unfounded as that specific is, they do have something of a tendency to overwhelming. I think it boils down to their extreme clash of personalities.”

Gilbert had not seen his family in close to four months—his family that he deeply, passionately and protectively cared for. Anne was not entirely buying this claim of his. She remained silent, however, save for a soft hum of understanding.

Gilbert’s eyes shifted to the comb laid flat before her. “Sorry, are you… Should I wait downstairs if you’re still getting ready?”

“Oh, no, no it’s fine.” She smiled, wide and true, gesturing to the bed that Gilbert hovered beside. “I would love the company while I wait. Feel free to take a sit while I attempt to comb this absolute monstrosity into something of fashion.”

Gilbert chuckled as he lowered himself onto the bed, a pretty pink dusting his cheeks that Anne knew was not from the cold. “If your hair is a monstrosity, I imagine everyone else must fall under the category of complete horror.”

Anne giggled in turn, sparing him one last smile before turning back in her chair, picking up the comb and tackling the one specific grievous knot that had been plaguing her beforehand.

A quiet fell over them, soft and content, accompanied only by the fleeting whispers of birdsong outside and the clattering of Marilla below. The moment was so inexplicably intimate; they weren’t even touching, a decent five feet separating them, and yet Anne couldn’t help cogitating on how this was something so private, something that only the likes of Diana and Marilla would bear witness to on the regular. Certainly never any man.

As she came to completing the loosely controlled bun, Anne grasped for another pin but found none. One hand still clamped tight around the style, she turned to reach for the ribbon, but quickly felt her grasp loosening. She sighed.

In the mirror, Gilbert looked up from where he had been perusing _The Picture of Dorian Gray,_ Anne’s latest fictional journey. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Anne grunted, mouth pursed at her reflection. “It’s this blasted hair. I can’t… I am honestly about to throw caution directly to the wind, give up, and risk the almighty power of Marilla’s wrath. I’d sooner die than fail her with the pudding.”

Gilbert snorted. “Anything I can do to help the process? I’d rather you not be killed, if that’s a possibility.”

“I fear it may already be too late, my time is numbered by the hours.” At her dramatic flourish, Gilbert snickered. She smiled, biting her lip as she looked off to the side. “Perhaps you could… hold my chignon in place whilst I tie it with a ribbon?”

“Sure.”

Anne steadied her breathing and heart—or in the very least _attempted to_ —as she watched Gilbert come up behind her chair, delicately removing his gloves as he stood directly behind her. She watched as his eyes flicked up to hers before falling to the back of her head. She watched as he gently wrapped his fingers around the bun of red hair, felt as a soft but steady pressure held the updo steadfast.

It took all her focus to channel her fingers into action and secure the ribbon deftly. Once finished, she released a quiet breath and met Gilbert’s gaze in the mirror. “How do I look?”

A wave of security, warm and calming to the point that her eyes were fluttering shut, rolled over her as he ever so lightly trailed his finger down the nape of her neck. “Like a yuletide queen.”

Anne sighed blissfully in response, allowing herself a slither of a moment to relax back into the chair as Gilbert’s fingers gently played with the fluffy baby hair. She leaned back slightly, a soft hum lulling in her chest as the pressure swept down to her shoulders and began to knead in slowly. Sound flowed out with the gentle pressure, and she smiled as Gilbert continued his ministrations. “This feels amazing.”

“I’m glad,” Gilbert’s low voice replied. “Dr Oak taught us to pay heed to our own bodies when looking to heal others’. She has had plenty of issues with her past students complaining of back pains from sitting too much. She has since adopted this combination of active movement in our study and various exercises to keep our bodies supple. I noticed your shoulders to be a bit taut, so…”

“Well thank you. So much. And please pass my thanks to Dr Oak because this is… transcendent.”

Gilbert chuckled softly as Anne sighed back into the chair further so that her head lolled back. The rhythm of fingers and palms of her shoulders was so soothing, it almost discounted for the sharp pressure on her neck from its now odd angle. She sunk down even further as she felt knots previously unrecognised fall apart by his attentive touch.

“Anne, you’re going to undo the effects if you put yourself in that position.”

“Anne is currently out of residence right now and floating off into the aether,” she mumbled back. “Might I leave a message from you in her absence?”

“Hey.” She started to whimper as the blessed comfort of his hands alleviated, but then froze, eyes popping open, as soft lips pressed onto her forehead, resting there a moment before reluctantly pulling back. Gilbert’s eyes flicked over her, lips curving endearingly upward from her upside-down perspective. “We should probably make our way downstairs. Did you not forewarn me about making a certain pudding?”

Anne gasped and flew upright from her chair. “The pudding! Wait, what time is it? How long—Oh, she is absolutely going to kill me, I know it!”

“Anne, Anne, breathe for a second.” She came to a pause as Gilbert cupped her cheeks, forcing her to face him dead on. “You still have time, and I can help you make it, if that’ll appease the time better.”

She blinked. “Are you certain? You don’t have to if you don’t wish… but I would deeply appreciate if you were to,” she added sheepishly.

He grinned, wide and effervescent in the hue of golden hour. “Of course—even if just to ensure you don’t put liniment in this time.”

At his roguish wink, she gasped, pulled out of his grasp and swatted his arm. He snickered at the action as she fought to keep a grin off her own face. “I hereby revoke your right to ever call me a dryad again, you unequivocal clurichaun!”

Gilbert laughed. “What on _earth_ is a clurichaun?”

“Nope; only those who do behave like clurichaun are entitled to knowledge of their character.”

“Anne!”

* * *

Nearly an hour and several barely-prevented baking catastrophes (most of which were foiled due to Gilbert’s efforts) later, and the pudding was secured to be placed in the oven upon the main course’s completion. Anne looked over the scrumptious-smelling handiwork formed by their combined prowess, before darting her eyes up to Gilbert’s face and promptly snorting. Upon his quizzical brow, she swiped a thumb across his cheekbone. Batter collected, she delighted in both Gilbert’s widened expression and flavour as she sucked the contents clean off her thumb. Marilla walked in just in time to see Gilbert turning beet red and Anne bending over in laughter, blissfully none the wiser to what had turned the young man so bashful.

Before Anne could quietly make a comment about her beau’s disposition, a knock sounded at the door. She and Gilbert removed their aprons as they moved to intercept it from an unquenchably frazzled Marilla.

And through the glass panes of the door, Anne beamed brightly at the arriving guests.

She opened it with a white and wide smile. “Merry Christmas!”

A chorus of ‘merry christmas’s arose from the crowd of five, but the most prominent belonged to the fair-skinned, vivacious woman to the side. Muriel Stacy stepped forward, removing her hat just in time to wrap strong arms around Anne’s figure. “Anne, hello! It is so good to see you. And Gilbert!” Anne shifted to the side, allowing the older woman to step over the threshold and give the dark-haired boy his share of embraces. “It has been so, so long! Too long, I fear, though I can imagine the time has felt but a fleeting moment for you amid the hustle of Toronto. Emily has been writing me to inform of your progress, and I must confess to be so proud of your accomplishments already, though I am hardly surprised.”

In her periphery, Anne saw Marilla raise a brow at Sebastian, who stood wrapped head to toe in wool and fleece. He shrugged, a simple smile on his features.

Muriel released a long sigh, stepping back to place a hand on both teenagers’ shoulders. “I feel honoured to be able to share the holiday with my two most prestigious former students.” Her eyes shifted to Marilla. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous in coming along, Marilla. Bash was quite insistent, you see.”

If Bash’s skin had been any lighter, Anne was certain it would have turned red. She delighted in the fact. “Was he now…”

Beside her, Gilbert barely concealed a snort. His brother figure looked as though Anne’s age-old slate response might be a perfectly reasonable tactic to apply.

Muriel brought a basket from behind her back and held it up for perusal. “I did pay mind to compensate for my suddenness with smoked Atlantic salmon, if that interests you? Caught freshly yesterday by some incredibly brave and skilful Mi’kmaq men.”

Marilla simply smiled, looking over her shoulder as Matthew trudged his way up beside her. “Of course you are welcome, Muriel. And thank you for the fish. How very charitable of you.”

Smiling, the schoolteacher walked her boots through to the sitting room, not before leaving the basket of salmon within the kitchen. Next, Bash, Delphine attached to his hip, and his mother came through.

“Merry Christmas to you all,” Hazel said with a curt smile and nod of her head. “Thank you for your display of hospitality.”

“None of that, please.” Anne brought the stiff, sharp woman into her embrace. “We’re all family here, Hazel. There is no need to thank us for anything. You must know that by now.”

“Ah, just be thankful she moved on from sayin’ her ‘Master’s and ‘Ma’am’s. Took a long while to knock that out’a her system.”

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Hazel chided her son, but nevertheless patted Anne on the back—albeit in a stilted fashion. As she pulled away, the Caribbean native showcased a basket of her own. “I brought along some o’ the best of Trinidadian Christmas food you can find— _pastelles._ Some of the ingredients were hard to come by in this barren land, but hopefully they taste alright.”

“I tried one before and they’re fantastic, if I do say so myself, Hazel,” Gilbert said with a smile. “Though a little on the spicy side.”

“Spicy?” Marilla and Anne both spoke at the same time, though with varying degrees of excitement.

Hazel nodded proudly. “Paprika, rosemary, thyme, and one seedless chilli. Just gives it that nice warmth you be needing on a night like this.”

Marilla looked faint. “My tongue will surely be scorched.”

“White people,” Elijah mumbled under his breath. Judging by his expression as Anne and Gilbert laughed, Hazel looked mortified, and Marilla appeared confused, those words had not been meant for the reception of anyone’s ears but his own. He visibly swallowed and ducked his head.

Marilla clapped her hands together. “Well, nevertheless, you are a doubtlessly exceptional cook, Hazel, and I am always excited to try your food.”

The two older women fell into conversation that could only stem from months of casual company as they walked into the kitchen. After showering Delphine in throws of love, Gilbert and Anne exchanged a look when Bash squeezed himself and his daughter past, bustling into the living space to almost immediately be intercepted by a cooing Muriel and equally excited Matthew.

Which left the final guest, who stood standing awkwardly, just out of reach.

Given his rather elusive and absent nature, and the issue of her educational priorities, Anne had scarcely had an interaction with the young man scuffing his second-hand boots before them. From Gilbert, Bash’s, and—bless her soul—Mary’s accounts, she knew him to be of twenty years, a jack of all clandestine trades, and the best self-taught pianist The Bog had ever seen. Anne knew herself to not be the most quietly perceptive of people, as headstrong people rarely were. However, from what she had gathered from the few times she saw him at the farm and around town, she saw those points matched up, as well as him being quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and all too careful with his trust. She was excited to find more about this reclusive young man.

And yet the most obscure thing of all was that she probably knew him better than Gilbert did.

Nevertheless, the fair-skinned boy stuck out his hand to the sienna-skinned boy, grin on his face. “Elijah, hello. I was unfortunate to only see you in passing this morning. How are you?”

After a hint of hesitation, Elijah took his hand, shaking rigorously. “Yeah, fine. I was out looking for some extra work. I’ve been helping out on the Lynde’s farm, but hoping to extend the clientele a little bit, you know? Been negotiating with the Barrys about gardening in the warmer weather, maybe doing some business handling when it’s colder. Bring in some extra income for the extra mouths.” He scuffed his boots again. “Not wanting to rely on old habits.”

“That’s most admirable of you, Elijah,” Anne spoke, hands folding in front of her. “By the way, I find it abhorrent we haven’t been formally introduced yet. I’m Anne.”

White teeth peeked through his small smile. “Elijah. Which you… already knew. Nice to finally make your acquaintance. Sebastian gushes about you.”

“Hey, that’s my responsibility.” Anne scoffed at Gilbert’s teasing comment, butting her shoulder into his.

The wind whistled as Anne noticed a tremble in Elijah’s jaw, and she shifted to the side of the doorway. “Please, do come in out of the cold. This weather isn’t kind on anyone.”

“I’d agree with that.” He ducked his head as he passed through. “Thank you.”

As he moved into the lively space of people, immediately being brought into a side-hug by Bash as he conversed with Matthew, Anne and Gilbert shared a glance. There was a sparkling mirth in his hazel eyes, Anne noticed.

She flicked up a brow. “What?”

He said nothing, just merely allowed his lips into a smirk as he begun to walk away.

“What is it?” She chased after him.

Still nothing.

“Gilbert…”

She trailed his tall figure as he walked through the dining room, avoiding the kitchen and congregating party in the sitting room together as he begun up the stairs to the bedrooms. He spared her one sly look over his shoulder as she hiked up her skirt.

As they reached the top of the flight, Gilbert paused, turning to face Anne as she met him with a sigh. “Honestly, Gilbert, what’re you—”

Lips twitching, he pointed above their heads. Anne’s eyes darted upward and, upon seeing the small set of pearly berries that hung on a string above them, smiled in tow. Gilbert’s own grin was near inane.

Ignoring the fluttering of her heart, she crossed her arms. “Now, when did you have time to plant that? Excuse the pun.”

“When I went to the washroom earlier.” He was all too smug. “I’d had it in my pocket after finding some on a maple oak earlier this morning.”

Anne shook her head at him with the most consuming smile on her face as she stepped closer. “Marilla will have a fit if she finds out.”

He shrugged, meeting her step for his own. “It’s tradition. She surely can’t mad at tradition.”

“That is true. Besides, did you know the tradition dates all the way back to Ancient Greece?”

“Is that so?”

“It is. As a woman who prides herself on traditional values, to denounce something so Grecian would surely be blasphemous in her eyes.”

“To her defence, there were a number of Grecian traditions and practices many today would find abysmal and uncouth.”

“Gilbert?”

“Yes?”

She grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him down so there was less an inch of difference between the space they held. “I have not seen you in nearly three weeks, and this may be the only chance we have tonight to do this, so do me the absolute honour of shutting your blessed mouth for once?”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert not wanting to converse? What is the world coming—”

She tugged him all the way down before another word could leave his lips. He sighed against her, closing the gap so that he could wrap his arm around her shoulders, stepping into her to deepen the kiss. Anne breathed in the scent of pine, snow and cinnamon that hung from his figure, trailing her hands down so she could wrap them around his waist. Steadying, grounding, securing. Making an infinite number of promises. Anne sighed against his lips and let the calming euphoria that she hoped never got old flood over her entire being.

“Anne?”

They sprang apart so fast that Anne banged into the wall behind her and Gilbert rushed to grip the railing. They had less than a second to look at each other in amused panic before turning to where Marilla walked around the corner, stopping at the foot of the stairs with Delphine babbling on her hip.

“Can you please check on the roast for me? I am currently occupied with an armful of baby, as is evident.” Marilla paused, brows knitting. “What are you two doing up there?”

“N-nothing, just… catching up. Talking about school. Gossip update from the Avonlea cohort.”

“Anne, do see to it that you don’t become Rachel. I will not allow it,” she chided. “Hurry up and get yourselves downstairs promptly. Do not be so antisocial—we have guests here other than Gilbert.”

Anne nodded as the woman walked away, little baby looking over her shoulder at the secretive teenagers. She babbled excitedly, waving her fist in the air as she giggled.

Gilbert leaned over to Anne. “Do you think she knew?”

“Marilla? I’d wager she definitely suspected.”

“I was referring to Dellie.”

“Oh, of course she knows. That girl is more intuitive than anyone gives her credit for.”

“I feared as much.” Gilbert snuck the slyest of glances at her as he started down the stairs once more, hands buried into his pant pockets. “You never actually permitted me the opportunity to shut my _blessed_ mouth.”

“By the power of The Son, The Spirit, and the Holy Ghost, do shut all the way up.”

* * *

Dinner was a lively affair. With nine people crowded around the small wooden table, people had abandoned all pretence of waiting and simply started reaching over each other for the small buffet spread before them. Hazel’s _pastelles_ had been the winner of the night, as people had scrambled over second and third helpings of the pockets of spiced meat.

Everyone tried to politely hide their scepticism when it was revealed Anne was behind the pudding. It quickly dissipated when Gilbert insisted he oversaw the whole progress, saying there was no risk of poisoning or the sort. That earned him a boot under the table from Anne. She hid her actions behind gentle smiles and passing around custard.

As they gathered for presents, comfortably squished between armchairs, sofas, and chaises, Anne glanced around at her quirky, colourful family. Bash was several glasses of eggnog in and leering toward a certain schoolteacher. That would have been worrisome if Muriel herself hadn’t been stealing sips of Bash’s pint throughout the evening, and was participating in leering of her own. The two now shared an end of the sofa, snickering surreptitiously, knees touching.

The wary edge had been taken off Elijah through casual conversation and a couple of glasses of wine, so that he was now passionately asking Matthew questions on farming and maintenance.

Marilla seemed slightly worried by the whole thing, cradling a sleepy Delphine to her chest. However, the light still shone bright in her eyes as she laughed at Hazel’s shaking head, a reaction born from her son tripping over his feet after Gilbert had roped him into partnered dancing.

When the two brotherly figures finally settled back into their seats, Gilbert shuffling so Anne could lean into his side once more, Muriel bounced off the sofa. Gilbert and Elijah guffawed as her clumsy elbow breathlessly missed Bash’s wide-eyed face.

“Alright, I do believe it is my turn to share with you all… my gifts,” she finished, head cocking to the side before she moved to pick up the first few, stumbling around people’s legs to get to the tree. “Oh! Whoopsie me.”

Anne slapped a hand to her mouth as Gilbert silently shook beside her.

“First… I do believe… before she tuckers herself out… is the esteemed and honourable Miss Dellie.”

“Oo,” Marilla cooed, stirring the baby into alertness as Muriel stepped toward them, tripping over her own feet as she came to kneel beside the armchair.

“Now, Miss Dellie,” she said, her tone taking on a severity as her pale blue eyes flashed, “as this is your first Christmas, it is by default the _most_ important, for it sets the precedent for future Christmas experiences. So I must assure you that I have taken the utmost pride in doing my best to signify this as a memorable one.”

The little girl blew a raspberry in response.

“You are most certainly correct, little sweetheart! Yes, I agree.” Bringing a box up, she began to untie it. “Now, this is my first attempt of something of this calibre, but I do sincerely hope you like it, as I spent a near month perfecting it.”

As she removed it from the box, a series of soft gasps echoed around the room.

Marilla looked up in awe. “Muriel, this is… Did you truly make this?”

“With my own sweat, blood and tears. And merciful Lord, the amount of times I managed to spring about blood, Marilla. Truly terrifying.” She lifted the small wooden contraption, no bigger than Dellie’s head, but nevertheless marvellous. “I did have to enlist the expertise of a friend, for I would have failed miserably if I attempted to complete the technical effort on my own. But now, if I just… _oo,_ there it is, and wound it up…”

Carved and painting, spinning around as it sung _Abide With Me_ in clunky singular notes, was a small music box. The figure set that spun around as the tune played… no one could tear their eyes away.

Instead of a lone dancer, there were two—one, a young girl, not quite a teenager, painted in a white dress and with chestnut skin, black hair curly and free. As she spun around, she held hands with an older woman, dressed in yellow and a bright smile, head titled back as she swung around in a perpetual laugh.

Delphine and Mary. A future only imaginable manifested into this small gift.

Muriel kept speaking. “I know it to be the cruellest thing that your mother was taken before you could truly know her. But I solemnly hope, little angel, that you can look to this and it remind you that she is here with you, every step of your life. She is in your father, and your brother.” Her eyes began misting as she pointed a finger at the baby’s chest. “She is in _you_. And if you grow into a fraction of the woman she was, you will be more than equipped to handle the throws of life.”

Delphine, still cooing in Marilla’s embrace, reached out with a tiny hand and wrapped it around Muriel’s finger, holding tightly.

Anne flicked her eyes over to where Bash sat and immediately stopped, blinking at the sight before her. She gently tapped Gilbert’s thigh and brought his attention around to align with hers. She heard him take the smallest inhale.

Bash was nothing short of _enraptured._ His eyes were glistening, mouth open in a small ‘o’ as he watched the achingly innocent exchange. His hand flexed and soon shifted to play with the copper band upon his ring finger, twisting it tentatively. Then, slowly, softly, his mouth formed one singular word: _Mary._

Anne and Gilbert found each other’s hands and gripped tight.

“You are so loved, precious girl,” Muriel whispered, miles sober than she had been a couple of minutes ago. “This world may try to tell you that is not the case, but it is. You are so loved and capable to great love. So forgive me for being so embellished about this, but I do need you to know that from the very beginning.”

It was as Delphine began to suck on the strawberry-blonde’s hair, earning a stifled wince, that the spell slowly dissipated, and people began to laugh. Retrieving her finger, Muriel placed a simple kiss on the little girl’s head before moving to pick up the next gift—Anne’s.

“Oh, please, Miss Stacy, several years of invaluable and incomparable education was all the gift I need,” Anne insisted, turning bashful as her former teacher stepped forward with a softly wrapped gift.

“Absolute frivolity, Anne. For starters, teaching you was a gift to _myself_. Despite the tumultuous nature of it, I was honoured to have been able to have an impact in the life of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Likewise for you, Gilbert.”

The boy sat beside her tipped an invisible hat.

“Furthermore, it is only tradition, and I am _not_ one to be without the spirit of Christmas and shirk tradition. Besides, this gift was of little cost to me, so if you are worried of monetary problems, there isn’t a need.”

Anne sent a glance up at the older woman as she began to softly tear the paper wrapping. Her brows lifted as she noticed some tawny-coloured fabric before. In her periphery, she noticed Muriel steal a fleeting glance at the Cuthbert matriarch, almost cautionary. Fearful.

As the wrapping fell away and she lifted the substance within with a gasp, she realised why. Eyes wide and grin splitting, she brought it crashing to her chest as she exclaimed, “Pants!”

Marilla’s eyes went equally wide. “Pants?”

Matthew looked mirthful. “Pants.”

Gilbert… His voice came out choked. “Pants…”

“Oh, thank you, Muriel, thank you!” She bounded off the sofa, wrapping her tipsy former teacher in a tight embrace. “This is amazing! I have wanted pants for so long, and have been awaiting the opportunity to source some of my own! I truly believed that moment would have to wait until I had completed my bachelor’s and was standing by my own income, under my own roof where Marilla cannot criticise my sensibilities of fashion. I still love you endlessly, Marilla! But, my goodness, wow, I… Just thank you? Thank you ever so much. I cannot wait to wear these.”

“Seems you’re not the only one who can’t wait for you to wear those,” Elijah murmured with an amused look in Gilbert’s direction.

“Should your girl really be wearin’ pants now?” Hazel whispered toward Marilla, who still sat in shock. However, the shock was quickly dissolving into fatigue.

“I have come to learn that there isn’t a thing I can tell Anne to do or not do, try as I might. And boy, have I tried with that child.”

Hazel huffed a small laugh before settling back down into her seat.

“Marilla,” Anne started, voice alight, “May I please go and try these on? Right now?”

“Anne, I’m appalled you would even suggest that. We have guests over. Absolutely not.”

“Please, Marilla—”

“Anne, sit down.”

“It’ll be ever so quick—”

“Only grown women are given the respect of autonomy to wear whatever clothes they so wish. You want to be treated like a grown woman, you will respect your elders.”

Anne sat back down with a huff. She had barely begun to cross her arms, frown pertinent on her face, when Gilbert slid an arm around her shoulders and begun to wiggle fingers underneath her arm. Within a few seconds, she was squirming, falling into his lap as the laugh rode through her system. As they worked through the remainder of the presents, Anne remained in her new position, head in Gilbert’s lap. Overtime, her eyes fluttered lackadaisically as his fingers carded through her hair, and as soft chorus was led by Elijah, they began to close and her breathing even out.

“ _O holy night, the stars are brightly shining, It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth; Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…”_

She only shifted into a subpar awareness when a soft weight was laid over her, a low whistling of the bitter wind outside. She blinked through the blur to see Matthew setting a blanket over hers and Gilbert’s near horizontal forms. Looking around, she noted that everyone else had seemingly fallen asleep in their chairs: Hazel with her hands folded in front of her, as though she had merely closed her eyes for _just a second’s rest_ ; Marilla was curled into the armchair, all stress alleviated from the prominent lines of her face. Delphine, since Anne was last conscious, had been moved back to her father, and was now being curled around by the man and a certain schoolteacher on each side. Just down from them was Elijah, wrapped snug in the mahogany sweater knitted for him by Marilla.

The old man smiled to see her stir and bent down to press a gentle kiss by her hairline. “Sleep well, you two.” He rubbed the spot where his lips had made contact.

“Thanks, Matthew,” Anne murmured back, quickly falling back into slumber by the warm body beneath her. “You too.”

With that, she nestled back in, pressing her nose into the crook of skin and curly hair that smelled of love and security and home, then once again drifted off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Mistletoe: the flower of Unquestionable Love_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a hot minute since ive done any work on this, and i whipped out this whole chapter in the last 3 days, so if my writing style has changed and it feels weird now, IM SORRYYYYY
> 
> okay so, excuse of my absence:  
> in the past 3-4 months, i have finished my first year of uni, got two new jobs, been cast in a movie, and gotten signed with an acting agent.  
> as well as all this exciting stuff, however, i have also lost an old friend and had my grandfather suffer a stroke, of which he has been fighting so so hard, but we're all getting ready to say goodbye.  
> this chapter is dedicated to him. love you pa <3 and thank you for everything.
> 
> hope you are all doing amazingly and are happy with the recent US election results (i know I am. holy heck, dodged a bullet there).
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: happy new years bitches. all the young people (yeah, ALL OF THEM) celebrating their youth, ie. getting drunk, dancing, singing off-key, pissing off older folk. elijah indoctrinated into the avonlea gang. much shenanigans ensue, jerry is the bane of anne's existence, diana is a queen, dellie is the damn cutest, bash is whipped af, and--  
> oh ho, gilbert sir, what've you got there?????????????


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